Daddy LongLegs
by etherian
Summary: Hermione becomes the ward of an anonymous benefactor after the death of her parents. When she begins to send this benefactor letters, she calls him Daddy Long-Legs because she saw him, almost, just once. This will NOT become an HG/SS romance.
1. Thus Begins the Story of Daddy LongLegs

A/N: This story is AU, but will touch upon certain events through most of the books from Hermione's point of view. It was inspired by one of my favorite books as a young girl, Daddy Long-Legs by Jean Webster. THERE WILL BE NO HG/SS ROMANCE.

To, hopefully, make this an understandable reading experience for you the letters will all be italicized, activity and dialogue outside of the letters will be normal, and Snape's thoughts, flashbacks, or interruptions in reading the letters be separated by horizontal lines.

I would like to thank Angel, and Cindy for analyzing each chapter, and bolstering my ideas. My thanks to Maelyn for diligence in regards to all that mundane stuff like grammar, punctuation, and spelling, and to the Ladies of the Spinner's End Library for encouraging me to tackle this story for you.

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter, and it's lovely characters, belong to JK Rowling. The story, and all Ocs are mine.

* * *

_**Thus begins, Daddy Long-Legs: Severus Snape, the Prologue...**_

Manchester, England. On the outskirts of the busy city lies a small township where all the houses are upscale, family homes that look quaintly alike. They are all two story, brick and timber, with a back and front yard, white picket fences, and well-tended gardens. Some of the yards are furnished with lawn chairs, umbrellaed tables, all for small, proper neighborhood parties.

Nested amongst these lovely homes is the Granger home with its front door painted a rather shocking, and divergent red. Even more against the grain are the wood sashes painted a dichotomous green. The grass has grown longer than the other yards around it, lending it a blurred softness that none of the angular lawns have. On the front, underneath the be-greened windows, are a riot of flowers that have no order. Along the right side of the house is a thriving vegetable garden with a vine of tomatoes that rises to the roof, sweet peas that explode hither and yon, blossoms of pumpkins to bloom, and more blossoms that herald an arrival of cucumbers for the pickled relish that is great-grandmother's secret recipe.

In the backyard is an overgrown willow that drapes lazily over the entire yard. Up in its branches is Hermione Granger's Reading Room, her very own hideaway that her daddy built for her birthday last summer. Within this cocoon of wood, and shade, cushioned by several afghan blankets knitted by Grammy Granger, sits a small girl hunched over one of her many treasures; a book of Rudyard Kipling's Stories of Mowgli.

Hermione Granger is a nine year old, thin child, almost rangy, with a shock of bushy, brown hair inherited from her mother. Tight rings of curls that are horrid to comb out after being washed soften just enough to fall haphazardly around her shoulders. A dusting of fine freckles, which will vanish someday, drift over her nose and cheeks. They are an unfortunate highlight to the slightly protruding front teeth that have given her the awful nickname at school of 'Beaver Granger'. Mummy has promised that when she's just a bit older, she'll get braces like some of the bigger girls in the neighborhood have so those teeth will be nicely straightened.

It is summer, though, and Primary School and its population of boys and girls that don't like the reading girl, are a distant memory. Hermione will read her stories, and begin on the letter H of her Children's Amazing Science Encyclopedia. Daddy is going to let her decorate her bedroom for the Summer, so it won't look as pink, and childish as it does now. She wants shelves, and a desk all her own, and grown up wallpaper, and a bed. Her many stuffed toys have already gone to a charity, as have a lot of her old clothes.

It promises to be an exciting summer!


	2. It Is Not a Great Summer

Hermione sat in the corner, in the plush rocking chair where her mother rocked her to sleep as a baby. No one knew this, but Hermione still sometimes crawled up onto her mummy's lap, put her arms around her neck, and nestled her cheek against her mother's chest to hear the heart that beat so solidly there.

Daddy had his chair by the fireplace where there was a tall, Tiffany floor lamp. Although he had a study, he preferred to work on patients charts, and read his soldier books by the fire. Hermione would watch him, and think about how her daddy always appeared to be someone who would have lived better in a Charlotte Bronte novel. Or, Jane Austen.

Lymon Granger's looks hailed to the old stock of Ireland. His cheeks were always flooded with ruddy colour, and his wavy brown hair was never regulation short. It brushed the collars of his starched shirts, and though mummy sometimes fussed, Hermione knew that her mother loved all of her father, even his too long hair.

Evelyn Granger, though, was a queen, in Hermione's eyes. Elegant despite her chestnut curls that mis-behaved no matter what, she always dressed smartly, and she always looked so clean, and smelled like oranges and sage in her dental scrubs.

A tear slipped down Hermione's cheek, and she drew in a deep breath to inhale the elusive scent of oranges and sage from the rocking chair.

No one saw the tear, nor Hermione.

The living room, and the kitchen were full of adults; all of whom murmured softly in small groups throughout. A buffet of too many casseroles sat under the picture window, that was now shrouded in the heavy drapes that Hermione knew should only be closed at night. All the adults wore their Sunday blacks, and carried small dishes of salad, or casserole, or a drink. Hermione was sure it was her daddy's special brandy that they all drank.

Hermione was the only one in colour because she didn't have a black dress. Someone had wrestled her into a navy blue dress that had too many ruffles, and a poufy underskirt that she hated. White stockings and black patent leather shoes completed the awkward outfit.

She didn't care, and sniffled.

At that moment, the murmuring was suddenly silenced. Hermione, who had been clacking the toes of her shoes together, rather liked the bit of noise that was now the only noise. She continued, and yet was peripherally aware of another pair of black, shiny boots with slightly upturned toes that were walking across the blue, Berber carpet. When the boots stopped, she followed the oddly striped trousers, the stripes were black and dark maroon, to an odd, long coat of dull, brushed, deep grey wool, and a portly belly hidden mostly by a long, white beard.

Blinking in curiosity now, the clacking of her shoes stopped as she raised her head to take in the strange man, with wide, blue eyes, and shoulder length white hair that fell smoothly into his beard. Gentle eyes twinkled sadly, yet the man smiled, and Hermione let out a long sigh.

Whoever he was, he was there for Hermione, only. He was the only adult, today, who really SAW her.

"Hi," she said softly. "I don't know you."

Daddy's beloved leather chair was suddenly no longer by the fireplace, but it was now in front of her, and the old man was sitting in it.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore." He leaned forward slightly. His eyes were now terribly sad looking. "I am awfully sad to hear about your parents, dear child."

Albus Dumbledore. What a funny name. Hermione wanted to ask him more about himself, but she thought it was best not to. Instead, she replied, "Mummy and Daddy always liked walking to their office."

"Did they now?" Albus asked with genuine curiosity. It was not the oppressive politeness that had permeated this day so far.

Hermione nodded. She was pleased that this adult didn't seem to care at all about all the other adults in black. Again, she felt comforted that all his attention was for her.

"Since it was a Saturday, I was supposed to go with them, but I was halfway through the Jungle Book, and I really wanted to read some more. Mummy really wanted me to go, but Daddy said I was a big girl who was responsible, so I could stay home, and read." Her shoulders lifted as she remembered the pride with which Daddy had exclaimed that she was responsible. She smiled, a deep down smile of pleasure, at knowing that her parents trusted her enough to stay home without the need of a babysitter.

And, then Hermione sighed, as another tear trickled down her cheek. "That was the last time they hugged me... and kissed me." She sniffled.

The doctors Granger, dentists by trade, had an office close to the hub of people traffic. A shiny, white office where they would walk, together, on those days when the weather was beautiful. Hermione had waved at her parents as they walked away from their house, and she had smiled, so very happily, as their fingers entwined together. Just before they turned the corner that would take them out of their daughter's sight, Evelyn had looked over her shoulder, and waved at Hermione. Lymon had smiled brightly, and Hermione had thought to herself how wonderfully, and beautiful her parents looked.

She would cook them dinner!

Hermione often helped her parents in the kitchen, and so she felt very at ease in it as she took down a recipe book, the ingredients needed, and began to chop, dice, and hum pleasantly as she worked.

A simple roasted chicken. A Caesar salad. A cherry pie for dessert. Nine years old, and she cooked everything to near perfection. She set the good dishes on the dining table, and then, Hermione waited.

At three in the morning, the lettuce in the salad had wilted, and even begun to brown. The chicken was dried out by having been left too long in the warm oven. The pie would keep in the refrigerator, but everyone knew that fresh baked pie was the best.

Hermione had fallen asleep in her mother's rocker. She would have slept on, but red, flashing lights had woken her. Seconds later, as one fist rubbed at the sleep in her eyes, a harsh knock rattled the house. Hermione's heart began to beat rapidly, and she slipped quickly from the chair, and ran to the front door.

How many times had Daddy warned her about being careful about not answering the front door to strangers? Hermione forgot, and opened the door wide, and stared at the uniformed men upon the front stoop.

Stoic, was one, the other looked ready to cry. He could not tell Hermione why they were there so early in the morning. The stoic one coughed, and then he told Hermione, as if she were fully grown.

...it was a delivery lorry… an oil leak... the driver is so very sorry... he could not see them... it was fast... they did not feel pain... a social worker will be here in the morning...

Albus Dumbledore found himself looking into the bright, brown gaze of a child who suddenly appeared older than she really was. With a soft sigh, she ended her tale with, "Mum and Dad couldn't have died any other way. They loved each other so much."

The tears started to flow, and Hermione was once again, a very small, little girl that was now all alone in the world. Albus opened his arms, and without thinking, because no one had really welcomed her tears since the sad policeman had hugged her before leaving, she climbed into his embrace. With her head in the softness of his beard, her arms around his neck, and his own holding her securely, Hermione let the sobs come. These were the tears that had been waiting for someone, an adult, to love her. Albus Dumbledore did, and he welcomed the tears, and whispered soothingly into her ear. The words did not matter to Hermione, what mattered was that this old man truly did care, and knew what she had lost. In his arms she was safe.

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_**A/N: I will not update this quickly in future. I have a few chapters written, and wanted to establish the story. Thank you for following, and commenting!**_


	3. The First Letter

**Madame Gingold's Home for Orphaned Witches**

The brass plaque seemed ostentatious, and rude to Hermione, and so she ignored it.

Hermione allowed her head to fall back slowly on her neck as she looked up at the huge structure. Of timber and oak, it sported seven, inward arched roofs, and gave it the appearance of some medieval mansion. Five stories in all, it sat behind a heavy gate of iron, and a wall of aged, grey stone. Behind the gate was a huge expanse of lush grass and flowers and trees. Children played in the shadows of the orphanage. They laughed, ran, yelled, and screeched. Hermione noted that all of the children wore clothing that seemed to come from another age. All of the girls wore plain, blue dresses that had a white pinafore over the dress. Their hair was all in either pigtails, ponytails, or braids. All of the girls looked freshly scrubbed as well.

Watching the children play were two professors in starched white robes that trailed to the grass. Upon their heads were white caps, with frilled edges, simply adorned by a blue ribbon that was threaded around the cap, and trailed decoratively down the back.

Hermione was a witch.

That's what Albus Dumbledore explained. Hermione had summoned her favourite fruit, oranges, at age four. At age six she had made all the stuffed animals in her room fly through the air. After age seven there were more odd such things, but neither of her parents seemed to find those bursts of 'accidental magic', as Professor Dumbledore called them, odd. The professor seemed certain that there were other relatives, in her past, which may have been magical. Hermione thought that her Grammy Granger probably was since she had always claimed to _'SEE'_ things, including her own death.

It's too bad Grammy Granger could not have warned her parents of the dangers of walking to work.

Hermione slipped her hand into that of the old man's – Wizard, Hermione reminded herself. Albus Dumbledore smiled down at the little bushy-haired witch.

"It really is a very nice place, Hermione," he assured her. "And, when you are eleven, you will come to Hogwarts."

Hermione's hand convulsed nervously in Albus' larger hand. "Why can't I live with... with...?"

"Your benefactor?" he asked, and his blue eyes twinkled knowingly. Hermione frowned, and her brow beetled in consternation.

"Doesn't he want me?" she finally asked. She knew so little about this mysterious wizard that offered to take care of her, and watch over her as she grew up. Hermione did not understand why she could not meet him.

"I am sure he would, Hermione, but his life is very complicated right now. He is a single wizard, and if some people knew you were in his life, he could lose his life."

That really made no sense to her. With a heavy heart, she pulled her hand away from the old wizard, and walked towards the tall, iron gates. Hermione missed her mummy and daddy. She missed her home. She missed her mummy's chair. She wanted her own, little bed with it's pink canopy.

Hermione leaned her cheek against the cold iron.

**!*!*!*!*!**

Jerusha Gingold was a tall, stocky witch with iron grey hair. She was a no-nonsense sort of woman who tended towards seriousness. She kept her charges clean, well-fed, and educated them in Primary studies. Comforting her charges, however, was left to her teachers: Elspeth Jangle and Demetria Prewett. Her small infirmary was run by her sister, a shorter, rotund, and much more smiling, Healer Abigail Gingold.

Hermione liked her teachers, but mostly liked Abigail, who was much more approachable, and who found the helpful child an engaging conversationalist either over tea, or when she was instructing her in regards to the many potions in the infirmary cabinet.

"What about pills, for headaches?" asked Hermione as she helped fold the dozens of pristine white towels used in the infirmary.

Abigail smiled, "Well, of course we have pills, but a potion is so much quicker as it travels through the system, Hermione."

"And potions are magical, and work better in witches and wizards because we have magic inside of us," Hermione concluded.

Abigail wagged a finger at the child, "A magical core, girl. Did you do your reading about them?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. The library at the orphanage was a grand one that she loved to spend time in. "Abby, did you know that a magical core exudes a signature that's as identifiable as DNA is to a policeman?"

"A Muggle Auror?" asked the Healer.

"Oh, yes. Aurors." Hermione agreed.

They discussed more that Hermione had learned of the Wizarding World until they were interrupted by the arrival of Elspeth Jangle.

"Hermione, you're needed in Madame's office," Elspeth directed.

Hermione dropped the towel she had been folding, and looked up. "Me? Why?" She had never been called to the Madame's office, and had only been there a few weeks ago when Albus Dumbledore had brought her to the orphanage.

"Don't delay, dear!" admonished Elspeth. "Madame doesn't tolerate lateness."

"Oh! I'd better go, then! Bye, Abby!" She ran out the door, but not before calling out, "Thanks, professor!"

Madame Gingold's office was furthest from the infirmary, and in the highest tower where she was able to view all of the grounds of her orphanage. She sat at her large, and ornate desk going over the menus for next month. For a moment she tapped her perfectly manicured nails upon the highly polished surface, and glanced at the water clock on the corner of her desk. The Granger girl was two minutes late.

Just as the older witch was considering summoning the orphan tomorrow, and locking her out today, there came a rushed knock on her door.

"Enter!" she ordered stiffly.

Hermione pushed through the door, and halted as she once again found herself in the overly large office. It glittered like a royal palace room in blues, and silvers, and seemed a bit much to Hermione. The walls were a deep blue halfway down until a wainscoting of amber stained oak finished the walls. There were some books on the bookshelves, but they were awfully cluttered by porcelain figurines, glittering knick knacks, and other things that Evelyn Granger would have told Hermione were a 'wealthy woman's fripperies'.

She didn't like it.

At the center of it all, before a tall window that led to a balcony, was the Madame, Jerusha Gingold, who sat at her desk as though she, herself, had been starched. She glared disapprovingly at Hermione.

"Your hair is an absolute mess, Miss Granger." Hermione's hand touched the unruly curls. She always brushed them, but by the afternoon her hair chose its own behavior. "You are to braid it."

"I'll do that tomorrow morning, Madame," Hermione sighed.

"Now, Miss Granger."

Hermione frowned, but complied as quickly as she could. She had only learned last week to braid her hair, and her fingers felt like they were getting tangled. Her braid was loose, and of course the springy curls fell mostly out of the confines of the braid.

"That is unacceptable, Miss Granger." The Madame stood, walked briskly around her desk, and grasped the mass of hair as though it were not attached to Hermione's head. Hermione grimaced as her hair was tugged so tight, she felt the skin on her face tighten. Madame was far too efficient, and much too harsh, but Hermione did her best not to cry, even though it was really starting to hurt.

She was thankful when Madame was soon done. "I want that done every morning, Miss Granger. I believe a braid will be the only way to tame that mess on your head."

"Yes, Madame." She sniffled as quietly as she could.

"And straighten out your pinafore!" the older woman huffed as she re-seated herself. "You will maintain a neat aspect, in class and in play. Is that understood?"

Hermione quickly smoothed out the wrinkles, nodding in acquiescence.

"Speak up, girl!"

"Yes, Madame. I'm sorry, Madame."

"Very good, Miss Granger. Now, sit down. Your benefactor has sent you a gift." The older woman pushed a package wrapped with green paper across the desk.

"For me?" asked Hermione in astonishment. She wondered if it was for her birthday. She had turned ten just a few days ago, but she was sure no one but her had known about her birthday.

"Don't be stupid, girl," sneered Madame. "I just said it was yours. Now, open it."

"Yes, Madame." Hermione leaned forward, and plucked the gift from the surface of Madame Gingold's desk. For a moment she examined it. It was most certainly a book, and for that thought alone she smiled. At least her benefactor appeared to know of her love of books. Her small library was not at the orphanage, but Professor Dumbledore had assured her that the new account she had at the goblin bank, Gringotts, kept her library safe, those things she most treasured that had belonged to her parents, and the money from the sale of her home, and those things that did not matter.

Drawing a finger down the plain green wrapping paper, she ignored the pushy snort of annoyance from the madame. Finally, she took an edge of the paper, and ripped it diagonally.

"Hogwarts:AHistory," she read off the title, and grinned at the glimmering lights of the drawing of the castle that decorated the cover. "This will be interesting!"

Madame Gingold frowned at the book. "Frivolous. No student ever needed to know such nonsense about that castle." She then curtly waved her hand at Hermione. "Write a proper thank you, Miss Granger, and get it sent promptly. Now, go."

Not needing another prompt, Hermione quickly made her way out of the luxurious office, and nearly ran all the way back to her dorm.

_I can write him a letter!_

**!*!*!*!*!**

Hermione was never at a loss for words when writing a letter but this was different. Other than that she had a benefactor she had no name for him. What could she call him? She wanted to be respectful for whoever this mysterious wizard that thought so well of her that he had sent her such an amazing book.

Tapping the feather of the quill to her bottom lip she recalled the scene about a week after she was left at the orphanage - The Home. She had walked to the long, thin window in her dorm and regarded the flat expanse that was the unremarkable, but very green property the orphanage sat upon. Grass, bushes, plants, all perfectly trimmed to within their lives.

And, then she saw them. Two figures at the furthest edge of the land. Smiling, she recognised Mr. Dumbledore. That long beard, and his bright red robes were unmistakable.

"Like a beacon," she giggled.

Not far from Mr. Dumbledore, severe in his attire, was a tall, thin figure with his back to the Home. He moved swiftly, rather like a delicate spider.

The man in black. His body so thin, but graceful. "Rather like..." Hermione giggled, and began writing:

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I want to thank you so much for the book you sent to me. Madame Gingold doesn't think much of it, but I believe it will be fascinating to learn about Hogwarts!_

_Thank you, also, for offering to take care of me since the death of my parents. I was so afraid of where I would wind up because my last living relative is my Grammy Granger, and she's too old to care for me. _

_I would very much like to write to you again, sir, to let you know what I am doing, and how I am. Professor Jangle said you probably wouldn't reply, but that's all right. It would be enough that I wrote to you._

_Please say yes._

_Your ward,_

_Hermione Granger_


	4. She's Writing to me!

_**Just Before the Grangers Funeral – Hogwarts**_

Severus Snape sat in a straight-backed chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. He was not at all at ease for he had a terrible suspicion that the Headmaster was up to something. That meant, whatever plans Dumbledore might have, involved him.

_Bugger __that_, his mind caustically muttered.

Severus removed his pocket watch, and glared at it. He would never make it to the Potions Guild Conference in France this year. He would never get to the International Portkey Station in time. The Potions Master sighed. He might as well accept that attending was out of the question when Dumbledore had some scheme up his sleeve for him.

Certainly annoyed, his right hand wrapped tightly around his left forearm. Beneath his hand, the sleeve of his frock coat, and the white linen shirt was the sin of his younger years; the Dark Mark.

Nearly nine years ago the constant presence of the dark magic in the Mark had gone silent. Lily had given her life for that of her son's, and the Dark Lord had toppled from a vicious backlash.

No body had been found, but the presence of dark magic coated the nursery of the house in Godric's Hollow like a sickness. So great had it been that several Aurors had left the scene of devastation to empty their stomachs upon the street.

Severus had known, as had his mentor, that the Dark Lord would someday return. Severus did not believe his Dark Master could be dead but his injuries had to have been monumental.

A sudden thought sent a frisson of fear through the young wizard. _Had his Dark Master returned and he not know of it?_

"Severus, thank you for coming," Dumbledore entered his office from his private chambers situated at the very top of Godric's Tower. Slowly he descended the brass, spiral staircase, only stopping a moment to caress Fawkes, his Phoenix familiars' breast. "Voldemort has not returned my boy, so do not worry yourself. I have asked you here to discuss a matter of grave importance."

"Is it Potter?" snapped Severus with a glower that darkened his angular features.

The Headmaster held up a placating hand, and smiled softly as he lowered himself in the chair behind his desk. It was then that Severus noticed an unusual weariness to the older wizard's movements. "No, no, this isn't about Harry. By the by, before I forget, I really need to thank you for insisting upon an inspection of the Dursleys."

Severus frowned. "They did not hurt him...?"

"Not as such, Severus. He had not been beaten, but they did not treat him as ideally as I had hoped for." Dumbledore raised his gaze, and sighed. "As much as I believe in the Blood Wards, Petunia and her husband were not able to allow the child into their family."

"The wards were weakened then, were they not, Albus?"

With a sigh, Dumbledore nodded. "Very much so."

"Then what has been done with the brat?" queried the Potions Master.

Albus frowned briefly, in admonition at the younger wizard. "I have spoken to Arthur and Molly Weasley." He smiled wistfully. "Until Harry comes to Hogwarts he will reside at the Burrow as a cousin. He looks quite charming with red hair."

Severus snorted. "Have they not enough spawn, Albus? How will Arthur feed them all?"

"I was paying the Dursleys a very generous stipend to take care of their nephew which they squandered upon their own desires. It will serve the Weasleys financial situation well especially since I have increased it." He quieted for a moment as he arranged a few of the scrolls on his desk. "Perhaps you will come with me this weekend to help with the wards?"

Severus nodded. Whatever he might think of James Potter's sprog, he had hated the thought that Harry Potter was with that less than stellar older sister of Lily's. He only wished that he had given thought to the boy, and his whereabouts, earlier than the three years ago when he had learned of where Harry was living. Knowing Petunia as a child, he had worried far too much for the boy's well-being, and so Dumbledore had begun to send Order of the Phoenix members to watch the house.

Two years after Severus had learned of Harry Potter's Muggle existence, an incident served to send Dumbledore to investigate. Harry had been left, all alone for a weekend, and had fallen out of a tree when trying to evade a pack of dogs that had been chasing him down Privet Drive. His injuries had been minor, but Alastor Moody, on duty at the time, had later railed angrily at Dumbledore to find a safer place for Harry to live or their Wizarding Saviour would perish at the hands of Muggles, and make Voldemort's claims of Muggle inferiority a reality.

_Well_, thought Severus with a sarcastic and knowing smirk, _hopefully __the __Weasleys __and __their __seven __children __will __be __an __improvement o__ver __the __Dursleys._

"What did you need me for, Albus?" he asked, pleased to now leave the discussion of Harry Potter alone.

"There is a Muggle-born child who has just lost the last family that could have taken care of her; they were hit by a lorry, and killed instantly." As Albus sighed, Severus shifted uncomfortably. "I stepped in, and until Madame Gingold can prepare a place for the child, she is staying with Minerva at the McGonagall ancestral home."

"So far I do not see how this concerns me, Albus," urged Severus. If he did not press for a quicker story, they could wind up being here all afternoon while the Headmaster expounded upon details he really cared little about.

"I that she will be an instrumental force for Harry when he defeats Voldemort." Dumbledore ignored the covert eye-roll that Severus indulged in.

"Another prophecy, Albus?" scoffed Severus. Dumbledore knew how the younger man felt about prophecies in general. After all, it had been a prophecy that had sent Voldemort to the Potters in order to destroy their son. As a courtesy, the Dark Lord had done away with both parents, first, before attempting to kill the small babe.

"No, Severus. Not this time. However, this child must be protected as I have done so with Harry. I would like for you to consider adopting her."

Severus pinched the bridge of his impressive nose, closed his eyes, and grimaced. "No, Albus." He then opened his eyes, and leveled the older man with a flinty stare. "Not only do I _not_ have a need for a daughter, I see no reason to adopt the child if she will have a place at one of the finest orphanages in our world."

"Madame Gingold's Home for Orphaned Witches is, indeed, a fine place, Severus, and you will help me strengthen the wards there, as well as at the Burrow, before I take the girl there. That does not negate the fact that once she is away from Madame Gingold's she will need someone watching over her."

"What, precisely, is it that you fear, Headmaster?" As nonchalant as Severus sounded, he could not stop his right hand from drifting over his left forearm. Albus watched the young wizard as what colour there was in his cheeks suddenly left his face as white as bone.

"Voldemort is returning," intoned Dumbledore.

Severus could only nod, now, as his right hand clamped down in a single spasm over his forearm. A darkness, much like the nausea of sickness, pulsed in his arm. A great foreboding washed over him, and he closed his eyes in a very brief moment of fear.

Dumbledore rose from his desk, and walked towards the younger man, and placed a hand firmly upon one of the thin shoulders.

"I will not ask you for what I once did, Severus."

"My duties to the Order, Sir," Severus began stiffly.

Albus hand flexed tighter upon the Potions Master's shoulder. "Tom would kill you before you had a chance to weave a tale, my boy. He will not treat the betrayal of his followers easily, and yours is the worst for having denounced him, in court, and confirming that you were a spy."

Severus gaze was tight, implacable. "I can make him understand, sir. I will be of use to him as I am still here, by your side. I will be close to Potter. Yes, I will be punished, but the Dark Lord will see my usefulness, and that I was as clever as I have always been."

Dropping his hand from the younger wizard, Albus went over to his fireplace and looked into its empty depths.

Severus stood, and smoothly followed. He continued his argument. "I can better protect this girl, and even Potter, if I am more aware of what the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters are up to." Dumbledore looked into the taller man's obsidian gaze. He could see the earnest entreaty. "You need not compel me, or ask me, Albus, but allow me to do that which I am skilled at. Let. Me. Do. This."

A very worried Albus looked up wearily, and with foreboding, into Severus' eyes. "I would not wish to lose you." His words were so very soft that the young wizard almost did not hear them.

"Trust me, Albus."

Severus looked over the paperwork, again. With the flourish of his signature he would become, not so much a guardian, but a benefactor to one, Hermione Granger. He would assign a goblin accountant to her Gringotts assets, he would take an interest in her health, and education, and he would be her silent protector. Never would he have contact with the child, and when the Dark Lord DID return, she would be protected simply due to the fact that the Potions Master would never have had dealings with her.

The Headmaster had volunteered the old, twisted, ex-Auror, Alastor Moody as the go-between while the child was in the orphanage, and attending Primary. It would be Moody's duty to escort Hermione to various places, when needed.

Severus signed the needed paperwork, and it quickly vanished to his solicitor's office, who would file it; perhaps with dozens of other forgotten files.

**!*!*!*!*!**

Professor Snape's first failing as a Benefactor came when he learned of the child's birthday. It was Albus who had told him, reminded him, actually, that the child was now all alone in the world with no one to celebrate with her.

Of course he sympathised, but he only admitted that to himself. He could not break the silence, though, and refused to acknowledge September 19 with nothing more than a glance to the old calendar in his private lab. She would be turning 10.

Thus, when he received an owl some weeks later addressed to 'Daddy Long-Legs', he was incensed to learn of what had happened.

Severus paced in a sharp staccato over the red and gold Moroccan carpet in Dumbledore's office.

"Hermione has no idea who you are, my boy," chuckled Albus with little concern.

"You sent her a birthday gift from me, Albus! Her Benefactor, and she wrote to ME!" He thrust the offensive letter at the old wizard.

"Daddy Long-Legs," he smiled. "Rather apropos a nickname, don't you think, Severus?"

"You obviously do not _think_, Headmaster," Severus scoffed, ignoring the gibe. "She wants to write to me!"

"I do not see your name anywhere upon this letter, Severus. It is this Daddy Long-Legs she wishes to write to, and she does not even expect a reply." His head raised, and shrewdly the blue eyes twinkled briefly at the dour man. "You're not Daddy Long-Legs, are you?"

"No, I am not!" gruffed Severus. "Daddy Long-Legs, indeed! I am not some dusty house spider..." he grumbled under his breath.

Albus sighed heavily, and dropped the letter. "Then I do not see the problem, my boy. Simply do not reply to the letter, and go about your business as usual. If you do not send a reply, I doubt very much she will write another."

!*!*!*!*!

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_Thank you for allowing me to write to you. Madame Gingold informed me this morning that I could write, if I chose, but I was never to expect a reply. That's all right. It helps, a great deal, just to sit down and write to you._

_I think it also will help my penmanship. Please forgive my unsteady hand until it does improve, though. Quills are quite a discipline, aren't they?_

_Well, I suppose I ought to tell you about my education since that is one of the things Madame Gingold tells me you are concerned with._

_I am now ten years old, and in Primary. Of course it will be my last year. Next year, I suppose, I will be going to Hogwarts. Until then, I am taking Reading, Writing, History, Arithmetic, Spelling, and Introductory Latin._

_Latin wasn't taught in my old Primary, but then I have since learned that a lot of the spells, and charms I will be taught at Hogwarts are in Latin. Professor Demetria Prewett teaches Latin, and History. She told me that many of the magical books I'll later be interested in are written not just in Latin, but Greek, Egyptian Hieroglyphs, and Sumerian! Professor Prewett says I'll be taught a spell that will translate such a book, but the more languages I can read in, the more accurate will be my knowledge! _

_It's very exciting, don't you think?_

_History is, so far, my favourite class. I am learning a bit about Muggle history, but only so far as it affects Wizarding History. I do hope that Hogwarts will have just as interesting a class in History. There is so much I want to learn._

_I read Hogwarts: A History every night before bed. Did you know that the Founders built the castle over the site of a Ley Line Cross? I didn't know what that was, so I did some reading on Ley Lines and found out that they are sources of great power. A Ley Line Cross is not just powerful but sacred. Elemental witches and wizards used them more in the past, but todays Potions Masters and Herbalists – or is that Herbalogists? - still seem to be the only ones who know of that ancient magic, and make use of it. In Hogwarts: A History, it says that Helga Hufflepuff was the most powerful Earth Elemental Witch of her century._

_My Grammy Granger was an Herbalist when she was younger. Up until she had to go to an assisted care facility she kept an extensive herb garden in her yard. Daddy grew one in our yard, and was teaching Mummy about all the herbs. He would have taught me, too, this year. More than just helping him weed, and plant seeds._

_I have to go to bed, so goodnight, Daddy Long-Legs._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

**!*!*!*!*!**

"Interfering... manipulative... twinkly... BASTARD!" Severus shouted in his dungeon office. He knew that Albus had spoken to Madame Gingold, and he had told her to tell the girl to keep writing.

"Bloody damn, and double blast..." More cursing followed as Severus ripped the parchment to shreds, and Vanished the remains. He vowed there would not be another.

**!*!*!*!*!**

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_A Divination instructor from Hogwarts came to speak to us today. She smelled funny. Like wadded up silk and heavy incense and that horrible, perfumed powder the old lady that lived next door always smelled of. Mrs. Dootfyre called it Attar of Roses. Dead roses, I always thought!_

_Professor Trelawney jingles when she walks, but I have to wonder if she can really see. She wears these impossibly large glasses that look like the ends of two green soda bottles. Really, they magnified her eyes so she looked like an over-dressed bug._

_Most of the girls were fascinated by her, but I just wanted to read. Divination is so much bunk!_

_I'd almost begun to fall asleep when she loomed up right in front of my face. She told me, "Ahhh you're such a sad, sad girl! Already old for your little ten years, poor child!"_

_Fraud!_

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

**!*!*!*!*!**

By Christmas there were now weekly letters that discussed her classes, visits of teachers from Hogwarts, from Beauxbatons, and the Salem Witches Institute in America. All places that the orphans would one day attend depending on whether or not they had been adopted. Severus had to admit that the letters were polite, and did not always sound as though they had been written by a child. The day after Christmas he had received a kind, yet brief missive from The Child (he refused to refer to her by name) thanking him for the winter robes, scarf, hat, and gloves. Severus_ had_ sent those, by way of a visit from Alastor Moody. He felt that his ward should be properly dressed for all seasons, and saw no reason why his ward should not be given the best he could provide. It was not until after the New Year, through another letter, that he found out the old Auror had spent Christmas at the orphanage, entertaining the girls, while making "sweet eyes" at Healer Abigail Gingold!

That New Year's letter was the first, of many, that he put away into an old wooden box, hidden behind his Potion Journals.

**!*!*!*!*!**

_**A/N: In the Harry Potter world an Herbalist is a Muggle with a knowledge of herbs, and medicinal plants. An Herbalogist is a witch or wizard with knowledge in not just herbs, but all plant life, such as Pomona Sprout.**_


	5. Hermione's Hogwarts Letter

_**The Arrival of Hermione's Hogwarts Letter**_

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_Summer is finally here and I am looking forward to a break in our classes. Madame Gingold believes that teaching should be year round, so in summer we have a select set of classes that are taught by visiting professors that have come throughout the year to tell us about the classes they teach in the schools they work at. This summer there are a few teachers coming from Hogwarts._

_Professor Pomona Sprout, who is the Herbology teacher at Hogwarts, is coming this summer to teach us about basic healing herbs used in teas, and tisanes. I've been reading her book, Common Household Remedies, for a week now, and I cannot wait to meet her! Professor Jangle says we're each going to get a small plot for a garden that we have to tend to on a daily basis. I'm planning to plant parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, which are all Muggle herbs, and the magical herbs of angel drift, sorlaut, trachium beans, and vennis groat._

_We're also going to have two weeks with Dragon Rider Gaffney Pern from the Romanian Dragon Preserve. He's going to bring a Dwarf Dragon, and teach us about the full-grown dragons. My roommate, Kennia Poorlock, is probably more excited than I am. She loves dragons, and wants to be one of the few Dragon Riders that exist today._

_Finally, we're also going to have some broom flying lessons but that teacher is from Beauxbatons. Professor Amelina Tausseut. _

_I hate heights!_

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

**!*!*!*!*!**

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I hope you're not worrying about me. I know that Madame Gingold wrote to you. Honestly! I'm all better now, and it really wasn't that great a height that I fell off my broom from._

_Professor Tausseut was just taking us through basic flying, and my broom just went up. I don't think I did anything. It just shot straight up, and I slid right off of it. There were slivers all over my thighs. What witch rides a broom in a skirt?_

_I survived, but mostly I feel stupid. All the girls are making fun of me because I refuse to get back on a broom._

_Did I tell you I hate heights?_

_All better, sincerely,_

_Hermione_

**!*!*!*!*!**

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I didn't want to like the book you sent me, but Broom Safety was really informative. Thank you, sir. Professor Jangle, who took over teaching us to fly on the brooms, thought the book was interesting, too. She used some of the safety charms on my broom, and I agreed to try flying again. I wasn't so fast, but Professor Jangle said that it's not the point to go as fast as possible on a broom. I just might need to fly on one, someday._

_I still don't like heights._

_Hermione_

**!*!*!*!*!**

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_Look!_

* * *

Attached to the parchment is a familiar Hogwarts letter with the Deputy Headmistress's distinctive script in gold ink.

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Hermione Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress

* * *

_Mr. Moody is coming next week to take me to Diagon Alley for my wand, and everything else I need._

_I can't wait!_

_Yours,_

_Hermione_


	6. Diagon Alley

_**Diagon Alley**_

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I went to Diagon Alley today. I cannot begin to describe how it was – like being drowned in rich scents, the noise and the colours of the shops, the wizards and witches... it still makes me breathless!_

_Mr. Moody met me at the gates to the orphanage. I never told you before that I first met him about a week after Professor Dumbledore left me with Madame Gingold. No one warned me about what a fright he looked..._

Madame Gingold had summoned Hermione to her large, and too rich looking office. Gold, blue, stained pine, velvet drapes, and porcelain statues of cats frozen forever in darling poses. As the older woman peered down her nose at the little, bushy-haired girl, Hermione sat primly in the straight-backed chair politely.

"Your Benefactor has sent Mr. Alastor Moody to meet you, Miss Granger. On behalf of your Benefactor, the gentleman will escort you, when needed, to various places in our world. Middy, the house elf, has prepared tea for both of you in the conservatory. I expect your best behavior, Miss Granger, for your appearance and behavior reflect upon my Home."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Madame."

Moments later one of the other house elves that took care of the orphanage and its inhabitants led Hermione to the conservatory. For a moment she was stunned by the lush greenery, and the fragrant flowers that filled the glassed in room, and then she saw him.

He stood, slightly listing to the left upon a portion of a wooden leg that rose up to a rather battered knee. His spine had been injured and forced his body to twist in such a manner that he could not, quite, stand tall, but there was a surety to his posture, and a strength. It was his face that ripped a short, and startled yelp from her.

A scar from forehead to chin cut raggedly, and diagonally through one eye, over the bridge of his nose, and brutally across the left side of his mouth. It skewed what must have once been handsome features. Startling, yes, but it was the magical eye that swiveled and spun as if with its own life within the ruined eye socket that caused Hermione's outburst.

Despite Alastor Moody's physical appearance, he had dressed in his best woolen grey coat that fell neatly over a black vest, and white shirt. Instead of trousers, he wore a kilt of tartan plaid denoting his Scottish ancestry. His hose, on his good leg, were thick, grey wool with a matching flash, or garter, of the same dark plaid as his tartan.

Moody withstood the child's study stoically, and had given no heed to her small outcry. When it appeared that she was neither going to faint, or run away, he gave her a short bow that was stiff due to his spine, and leg, and introduced himself. He then watched sharply as the small girl swallowed any trepidation she had, and stepped closer to him.

"Hermione Jean Granger, Sir. Would you take tea with me?" she asked politely with a slightly awkward curtsey.

"I would, but don't yeh be calling me sir, and all that, Lass. Moody's fine." He seated himself and then watched as the child was 'Mother' and poured them each tea. When done she seated herself across from him.

"If I call you Moody, it will only be between us. Madame Gingold would have me thrashed if I weren't respectful." She sipped at the tea, and wrinkled her nose at the too fragrant lavender aroma. It was a tea favoured by Madame Gingold, and Hermione had already begun to hate it.

"Thrashed, ye say?" glowered Moody which was worse for the scar upon his visage.

Hermione only nodded. She had never been spanked by her parents. They preferred talking, and making her stand in the corner. The love she felt for her parents, though, nearly always made her want to do her best. As for the cane she heard about from the other girls, she was terrified into good behavior. She knew, though, it would not last. Even a good girl had her foolish missteps.

_I cannot tell you how glad I was to go through the gates, sir. It was like escaping!_

_Oh, the Home is not a bad place and I am very grateful to you for allowing me to be here but sometimes I think of the museums and galleries daddy and mummy took me to. Or the big park we visited that was a block from our home. Do wizards have museums? Art galleries? If not, could I, please, go to one?_

_Goodness, I've never thought of this before, but am I still in Manchester?_

_Never mind. Let me continue._

_Our first stop was Gringotts. I'd never seen the goblin run bank before since Professor Dumbledore had only told me about it. When we walked into it I couldn't help but just stare stupidly. _

_It's huge! And, it's beautiful... oh, I'm sure you've seen it, sir, and maybe to you it's no longer a great sight, but I felt overwhelmed..._

Moody led the gawping child down the narrow floor of black and white tiled marble. Their destination was the goblin manager who was seated at a highly polished oaken desk. Before the goblin manager were several scrolls. On either side, raised above Moody's height, the path was lined with goblins hunched over more ornately carved desks within a recessed, arched niche. Overhead the great beams holding up the walls were carved like sturdy tree trunks they had been hewn from, and the tops culminated in a wealth of interwoven branches that supported a glass ceiling. The glass had been etched in such a way as to mimic the leaves of the trees. As summer was just starting its downward spiral into autumn, there was a scattering of gold, and yellow leaves since the glass was charmed to reflect the season.

Just before they reached the manager a goblin appeared right in their path. Hermione stepped back quickly away from the goblin that approached her bumping solidly into Moody who stood behind her. The grizzled wizard dropped a square-fingered hand reassuringly upon her shoulder.

"Miss Granger's here to see her vault, and to pick up some money for school things," he gruffed.

The goblin ignored the wizard, and addressed Hermione. "I am Bone-Club, Miss Granger. I have been assigned as your Financial Advisor by your Benefactor. Any questions you may have, or extra monies you think you need, will go through me." He snapped a piece of parchment at her, and Hermione took it, her hands shaking the tiniest of bits. "I have done a full inventory, and accounting of your vault, and I can assure you that it is accurate. However, if you feel there is a discrepancy," he sneered, baring some rather unpleasant teeth.

"Oh no," Hermione shook her head. "I'm sure it's fine."

Bone-Club sneered again, but Hermione thought, with the goblin's wrinkling of his nose, it might have been a smile, of sorts. "I am informed you require a suitable wardrobe in addition to your supplies for Hogwarts so I have allotted 100 galleons, 30 knuts, and 15 sickles for your budget. This will adequately cover a wardrobe," the goblin glanced nastily up at Moody, "from Madame Malkin's, your wand from Ollivander's, and a familiar." The goblin sneered at the girl, and dropped a clinking money pouch into her hands. Hermione received the sharp expression as a warning not to squander her money on frivolity. Then, with lips thinned, and not showing any teeth, Bone-Club pointed towards a tall, deeply carved doorway that led to a track upon which a cart sat.

Hermione couldn't help but glance worriedly back at Moody. He nudged her forward. "Just hang on, Lass, it isn't a pleasant ride."

_It really wasn't. By the time that roller coaster of a ride ended at my vault, all I wanted to do was curl up, and be sick. That's when Mr. Moody gave me a potion to soothe my stomach. It really helped._

_The door of the vault led into all that was left of my house, and my parents. It was all on shelves, and more gold than I'd ever seen in my life glittered in neat piles all over the floor. There was silver, too, and copper. These were galleons, knuts, and sickles._

_Mr. Moody counted out my money, and then asked me if there was anything else in the vault I wanted. I saw mummy's rocking chair and was so tempted to go and sit in it, but I didn't. Seeing it just made me want to run away and cry. I did take with me a small locket that my parents had meant for my birthday. It had photos of each of them. Mr. Moody actually saw the gift, and handed it to me._

_All of my life. In a vault deep beneath the world, and accounted for on parchment..._

Hermione yelped as a pin managed to nip just precisely under her arm as Madame Malkin herself measured the girl. The seamstress who was controlling a cloud of pins near her face, and a measuring tape that danced to some silently cast directions, clicked her tongue, and glared at the child.

"You'll need underthings?" asked Madame Malkin as she was consulting Hermione's measurements, and cloth swatches.

Not really paying attention as she was perusing a rack of skirts, blouses and dresses she muttered an unintelligible reply. Looking critically at a rather pretty dress that might be on a girl at a Victorian tea, she wondered if trousers were in fashion at all for witches.

"Underthings, child?" snapped the seamstress.

Quickly replacing the dress, she replied, "Sorry, Madame. Uhm... underwear. Yes, but I don't really think I need..."

The seamstress nodded as she made another note, "Seven days, and one day for good fortune."

"Hi," said a voice behind her, thus conveniently distracting her from the surly witch.

Hermione turned to see who had greeted her. The boy was about an inch shorter than she was with a messy head of black hair that made her own curly mess appear tame. Green eyes smiled shyly at her through black horn-rimmed lenses.

"Hello," she greeted back.

"Harry Potter," he announced, and grinned shyly. Somehow Hermione felt that the boy was pleased to hear his own name coming from his lips.

"Hermione Granger," she introduced, sticking her hand out towards him.

"You're Muggle-born," Harry concluded as he firmly shook her hand.

Hermione frowned slightly. One of the drawbacks of the orphanage was that some of the older girls acted a bit snooty about her being a Muggle-born. She wondered if this Harry might be of the same feeling, but he shook her hand, not hiding his relief.

"How did you know?" she inquired.

"Wizards bow, and witches curtsey. Shaking hands is kind of foreign to them. Also, I lived as a Muggle until I found out I was a wizard a couple of years ago." He offered this factual tidbit almost proudly.

"Do you still live with your family?" asked Hermione.

Harry shook his head, his bright gaze shadowing slightly. "Not for awhile. The Weasleys adopted me when I was nine." Another smile spilled from the boy, and Hermione couldn't help but smile with him. "They're a really big family. All redheads. Ron's my best friend even though he's my step-brother. Do you want to come have lunch with us at the Leaky Cauldron later?"

"I have to ask Mr. Moody, but..."

Harry interrupted excitedly, "Mad-Eye Moody?"

"That's a terrible nickname!" she bristled. "Mr. Moody is very nice and you shouldn't insult him like that!"

"It's not an insult," stiffened Harry. "Mad-Eye took me away from my awful aunt and uncle, and he and Dumbledore..."

"Mr. Dumbledore," she swiftly corrected.

"Yeah, him," Harry glossed over the correction. "They took me to the Weasleys."

"So you know them, too, Harry?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. I don't see Mad-Eye so much, though. For a retired Auror he's always busy doing something. Dumble..." he caught Hermione's meaningful frown, and he corrected himself, "I mean, Mr. Dumbledore's busy with Hogwarts. It'll be great to see Mad-Eye!"

Moody had not waited at Madame Malkin's establishment in order to avoid her snooty glower. A street vendor was very busy with the crowd selling drinks of pumpkin, crushberry, or pomegranate juice along with cool, flavoured water. Moody really wanted an ale, but a non-alcoholic butterbeer was his only choice, so that is what he imbibed while he waited for the child, and eyed the street for possible trouble.

He had seen Harry Potter, surrounded by a sea of redheads, but he had also identified Crabbe, and Goyle seniors with their little, fat trolls, the Bulstrodes, Evangeline Parkinson and her pug-nosed daughter.

_Death __Eaters __with __families_, he snorted resignedly. What would they do when their master returned and demanded their children in payment for denouncing him at their trials?

"Hi, Mad-Eye!"

"Mr. Moody!"

The old Auror spun gracefully to see the two children leaving the robes, and clothing shop. His smile was twisted by the long scar upon his face, but there was warmth in the one, good eye.

"Potter! You're looking well-fed!" Harry grinned, and shook the older man's hand. "Molly's good cooking's fattened you up." Moody ruffled the boy's hair, making it even messier.

"Mr. Moody," interrupted Hermione. "Harry invited us to have lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Could we go? Please?"

Moody consulted his pocket watch. "We still have a lot to do, Lass," he replied reluctantly.

"Oh come on, Mad-Eye," pleaded Harry. "I want Hermione to meet everyone, and I haven't seen you in ages!"

Moody glowered at the boy, but it was mostly for effect. "Fine! Round up yer family and we'll meet all of you in two hours."

"Two hours?" exclaimed Hermione. "What will we be doing for so long?" She glanced worriedly at Harry, and he simply shrugged.

"Wand, books, familiar," Moody curtly ticked off. "I think we'll be ready for a kip by then. Let's go!"

Ollivander considered himself a patient man, but this child... this little beast of a girl... was trying that patience. Twice! Oh, he could not believe this... _twice_ the child had refused the wand that had chosen her!

Scratching the tip of a pointed ear he scowled over at the scarred ex-Auror. Ollivander blamed Moody for bringing the child to him. He wished, terribly, that they had gone to his competition in Hogsmeade, instead.

Hermione could tell that Mr. Ollivander was getting upset with her, but she had read in Elementary Wands that a wand became a reflection of the person who wielded it. It was fascinating that the wand could choose its new owner, but two wands that had chosen her simply had not felt right in her hand despite the profusion of red, and even green sparks.

After consulting worriedly with Moody, because she was beginning to doubt whether or not she was doing the right thing, he told her, with a chuckle in his voice, "Be strong, girl. It's all well, and good th'wand chooses yeh, but ye'll know the one when it's solid in your hand."

Ollivander glared at the scarred wizard then brushed a rejected wand, and its box petulantly off his counter. With an annoyed grump, he stomped back into the shelves that stood up to the high ceiling, and were stacked up with wands. After several long minutes he brought out a box, opened it, and held it over the counter to the girl.

"Green Rowan with an Ashwinder skin core, 9 and a half inches." He smiled thinly, and not at all sincerely.

Hermione tentatively stretched out her hand, and carefully touched her fingers to the wand. She had been literally shocked a few times already. Since nothing happened, she picked up the wand, and then flourished it. To her astonishment she was lifted off her feet, and thrown across the shop. Moody had cast a lightning quick Cushioning Charm that kept Hermione from being harmed by the impact, but she still tossed the wand away as though it were the deadly Ashwinder serpent come to life, and then slumped dejectedly.

"I don't want a wand," she grumbled.

Moody clomped over, and to Hermione's surprise hauled her up by the collar of her orphanage issue cloak.

"Ulp!" she felt like she was choking. The Auror let go abruptly.

"Get a backbone, girl!" he snorted sharply. "Ye can't give up after forty minutes. I was here myself as a lad for nearly an entire day before I found my perfect wand." He held up his wand of yew that was twisted, as his own body was. "Now, straighten up, and find yer wand!" With a delicate shove, he pushed Hermione at the counter towards Ollivander.

Hermione did stiffen her spine, and with a sigh, she furrowed her brow at the wand-maker. "Mr. Ollivander, I've been reading about ancient Elemental magic. Have you any wands that an Elemental witch might have used?"

Ollivander's amber gaze narrowed as he regarded the little witch. "An Elemental Wand, you say?" Hermione nodded. "You're no Elemental witch," he scoffed.

"Do I have to be?" she snapped, her hands planted firmly on her hips. She did not see Moody's admiring grin.

"Irritating, little, firebrand," Ollivander muttered under his breath. Narrowing his eyes at the girl, the wand-maker tapped his chin with his spidery thin fingers shrewdly. Suddenly, his face lit up. He smirked down at the girl. "You _are_ a fierce thing, aren't you?" Turning abruptly back into his inventory, Ollivander appeared to be on the hunt. "Not an Elemental Witch, certainly..." his mumbling voice was quickly fading within the shelves as he moved deeper into his inventory. "Not since Modilina the Inclined, but then... well... she was rather... mad... hmm... no..."

He was gone for a very long time. Hermione would have suspected the wand-maker had just left, but soon they both heard a crash, what sounded life a thump, and then an impressive string of imprecations that had Moody stepping forward to clap his hands over her ears.

Ollivander returned, rather triumphant, and somewhat frazzled looking with his white hair mussed, and trailing wisps in all directions. He leaned his elbows on the counter, and his eyes narrowed once again as he glared solemnly at Hermione. Across his hands lay a box lacquered in gleaming crimson with a sinuous dragon carved into the many layers of lacquer.

Moving the box to the palm of one hand, he deftly lifted the lid to reveal a wand that seemed to glow a deep, burnished red. Hermione cautiously placed her hands on the lip of the counter as she leaned closer to see the wand. Moody, too, was leaning forward, his magical eye still, for once.

"Skillfully carved from the ancient wood of the kauri, by my great-grandfather Lathmaeion Ollivander," he began softly. "This is wood that cannot be tamed by charms, but must be carved with fire as the wand is fashioned. The core is the tongue of a Hebridean Black dragon." Lowering his hand that held the box, Ollivander's eyes glittered. "13 inches. Precisely. Quite long for a girl, but... you just might be able to wield this one, Miss Granger."

Hermione's gaze was nearly hungry as she reached for the wand, and lifted it from its satin nest within the box. The wand was smooth but for a tongue of sinuous flame that wrapped around its entire length. As she gripped it, the wand felt warm in Hermione's hand, nearly vibrating with a power that she felt from head to toe.

Hermione gave the wand a flourish, and was rewarded by a smoky stream that glowed red then faded to ash as it spiraled ribbon-like around her. She smiled brilliantly at the old wand-maker

Ollivander beamed back in smug triumph, as he finished his sentence, "... it is a perfect fit!"

_I can't wait to begin using my wand, sir. When I returned to the Home, I looked for everything I could find about wands, and Elemental wands, but the library here is so inadequate! In Hogwarts: A History, the library there is said to be the most extensive in all of the British wizarding world._

_Our next stop was the Apothecary. That's such a marvelous place! I really wanted to stay, and explore, but the Potions Kit has everything in it. Have you ever seen one of those kits? They're certainly not like some of the toy kits I used to see at the toy store_

_The kit includes a standard grade cauldron of iron that is about as large as a bowling ball, or about nine inches in diameter. That's called a size 1. Then there is a set of stirring rods in iron, glass, and copper, a set of scales, knives that remind me of something you might see in a surgery, several glass eyedroppers, and an entire set of ingredients that are enough to brew all the potions in First Year Potions. It's rather a large kit, and I'm glad Mr. Moody was able to shrink it down._

_Except for the Stomach Soother Potion that Mr. Moody gave me, I've never had any other potion. Grammy Granger used to always make a tea of Bayberry and Echinacea for the winter months to help prevent colds. I think it must have worked well, because I never got a cold, or even flu. Grammy didn't just make teas, though. She had creams, and unguents, and powders, too. Mummy sometimes balked at some of the things Grammy Granger gave us, but daddy had grown up with all of these natural remedies._

_After the Apothecary we went to pick up my books at Flourish and Blotts._

_Is there no end to the wonders of Diagon Alley?_

_I've never seen a bookstore like Flourish and Blotts. I wish I could live there. After getting my books we picked up parchment, quills, and ink. Madame Gingold has told me a few times that my penmanship with a quill is "atrocious" so I bought a Practice Quill that has a charm upon it that forces your hand into the proper writing position. I'm using it now, and I don't really care for it, but you have to admit that my penmanship is finally much approved._

_I have to end my letter, sir. It is late, here, and I can hear the teachers calling for lights out. That means Madame Gingold, and our two professors will be by soon for the bed check._

_I hope you sleep well, too, sir._

_Your ward,_

_Hermione_

!*!*!*!*!

As Severus sat at his desk preparing his curriculum, his Floo flared its flickering green. A voice gruffed at him roughly.

"Snape!"

Severus sighed dramatically. "The Floo is open, Moody."

The old Auror stepped through the flames, and made a perfect production of shaking the excess soot from his drab outer robes onto the Potions Master's office floor.

"I take it the Child is all prepared for her first year, Moody?" inquired Severus with a bored tinge to his voice.

"The _Child's_ name is Hermione, you soggy, bat," muttered Moody. He disapproved of Snape's insistence upon referring to his ward simply as 'The Child'.

"I know what her name is," Severus snapped. Moody sent a parchment scroll at the other wizard, a bit fast. Showing his excellent reflexes, Severus caught it. He gave the scroll a brief glare, then returned his gaze to the work on his desk. "What is it?"

"A letter from Hermione," Moody glowered, and then settled himself into one of the two, straight-backed chairs in the Potions Master's office. Severus sneered distastefully. "She wrote it while we had dinner with Abby."

Severus tucked the rolled up letter into his desk, and went back to his work, ignoring Moody.

"Din't get a familiar," the older wizard huffed after several minutes.

"Hmmm." Severus still did not look up, but scratched out a sentence upon his stack of notes.

"Wants a cat that one does. She weren't so sure about the kneazles, though there was a fine litter of 'em."

Severus did not even acknowledge this latest information. Moody glared at the impassive man, and then smirked as he added, "She met the Weasleys. Had lunch wi' all of them."

Moody was rewarded with the clatter of Severus' fine quill falling with a light clink to his desktop. The Potions Master swore as the ink bottle spilled ink across his paperwork. As the ex-Auror snickered softly, the other wizard cleaned up the mess after he muttered a few choice curse words in Greek.

Once the mess was remedied, and his notes cleaned as much as possible from the ink, Severus rose from his desk, and moved around it to stand over the Auror. Moody was not at all intimidated.

"What do you mean you had lunch with the Weasleys? I assume Potter was there, as well?" demanded Severus.

Moody nodded, removing a flask from the inner pocket of the long, grey coat that matched his outer robes. He quaffed a portion, corked it, and returned it to its place. Severus sneered at the waft of fire whiskey on the older wizard's breath.

"Harry's looking mighty healthy. Rosy cheeks, meat on 'is bones. Molly's cooking agrees with him," commented Moody blithely. He sneered as he picked at something non-existent in his teeth.

Severus expected to hear more, but the insufferable man was making a disgusting show of picking at his teeth.

_About two years ago he had been in Hogsmeade running errands when he had literally bumped into a strange eighth in the Weasley clan. Harry Potter, still under his carrot-topped disguise, along with freckles, and a charm that hid the flaw of his mother's eyes: glasses to aid the bad eyesight from James, he had been frozen. The boy had looked up at him with unafraid guile, a touch of curiosity, and Lily's own welcoming grin. The red hair was tousled, but brushed his shoulders so it did not quite have the unkempt appearance that his father's black mess had been subject to._

"_Very sorry, Sir!" Harry smiled apologetically as he bent to pick up the sealed package of potions ingredients the rambunctious boy had just sent flying from Severus' hands._

"_Have you no eyes, boy?" snapped Snape. "This is a busy street, not a playground!"_

_Again, there was that wry smile of apology. "Yeah. Sorry about that, Sir. I was just going to meet Ron, and Charlie, my cousins, at Zonko's. The twins said that Zonko's announced a new toy, a Whirling Dervish, that would be released today. Limited time, and I at least wanted a look." Harry chuckled. "I bet Ron already used his knuts for it, but not me. Maybe."_

_Severus scrutinised the talkative boy. He liked the hint of caution. As much as he had adored Lily when they were children, it was because of her that they both managed to get into so much trouble as children. Lily had an exuberance that she simply had to share with Severus, and that often meant wondrous treks fraught with imagined dangers as they ran through the nearby woods near their park. They both always sported scraped knees, bruises on shins, and arms, and all manner of minor injury a child was susceptible too._

"_Are you always so deliberate regarding your acquisitions, Mr...?" Severus let the question hang, though he already knew the boy's alter ego's name._

"_Cove Weasley, Sir." To Severus' surprise, instead of sticking his hand out, in the Muggle way for a handshake, Harry bowed very politely. A near perfect imitation of a Pureblooded wizard._

_In kind reply, Severus bowed as well, and introduced himself. "Severus Snape."_

"_I know you!" enthused Harry. "Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the twins have all mentioned you." Harry peered cautiously at the man who seemed to tower above him. "Uhm... "_

_Severus eyebrow rose incrementally, as he smirked. "No doubt they have." The Potions Master moved smoothly until he stood beside Harry. "Come, Mr. Weasley. Allow me to escort you to Zonko's. This really is far too busy a street, and you are a bit young to be by yourself."_

As positive as the meeting was (which he had not expected) Severus did not want his ward to be at all associated with Potter. As a Muggle-born if she were to become friends with Potter it would be the same as painting a target upon her back.

Long after Moody left, Severus retired to his quarters with a perpetual frown creasing his forehead. Seating himself in the comfortably worn, leather armchair, he took a slow sip of chamomile tea.

Upon the arm of his chair was the letter from his ward. He knew he ought not to read it. He should not even keep it. But, like an itch he could not scratch, he tapped the small scroll with his wand. The ribbon that tied it closed fell away, and the parchment unfurled itself. Severus picked up the letter, noted somewhat of an improvement in The Child's penmanship, and began to read about her day at Diagon Alley.

!*!*!*!*!

_**A/N: Ten points to SSS - Severus Snape Supporter for catching the 'Mrs. Doubtfire' reference in chapter 4. That last chapter was rather short, so I gave you a second one. I do hope you enjoyed this.**_


	7. Mysterious Rumblings

_**Mysterious Rumblings**_

Twilight flickered in the low light from a fire. Near the fire was a narrow bed upon which rested the silhouette of an emaciated figure. Near the doorway, two voices whispered in an almost hiss at each other.

"This is foolish!" grated one voice. "He'll kill himself!"

"Do you wish to tell him so?" asked the other figure sharply. "Does it matter that this could mean my death?"

"Do I care?"

An answering moan as though from the very grave froze both figures. The second voice continued, more urgently, and in a much quieter hiss, "He must have the boy's blood, Rudy. I have not found him, but at Hogwarts he will not remain hidden. This! This is our chance, and we must take it!"

**!*!*!*!*!**

Charms. Transfiguration. Potions. Magical History. Astronomy. Hermione let out a small squeal of glee as she swallowed in the sight of her text books as though they were manna from Heaven.

"Oh, would you stop, Granger?" fumed her dark-skinned roommate, Kennia Close.

Hermione flashed the girl a quick grin as she slid off her bed. "You're just jealous that you're not going to Hogwarts this year, Kennia!" She snatched her dark blue uniform robe with its satin blue collar, and draped it over her House issued dress of blue serge cotton, and white pinafore. Sighing, she couldn't wait to wear her new clothes!

**!*!*!*!*!**

Severus glowered at the morning edition of the Daily Prophet as he sipped at his bitter coffee. Idly he wondered why the gossip-rag needed two editions to regale the wizarding world with half-researched articles, and once in awhile, actual news.

He winced slightly as a ripple of pain pulsed within his Dark Mark as though it were fighting to take a breath. Just as swiftly as it appeared, it passed.

The staff of Hogwarts was taking their breakfast that morning, as they did most meals, within the cozier confines of the staff room. It tended to make staff meetings easier, at least for the Headmaster.

While Severus was slowly putting his coffee down upon the table before he spilled it, the Headmaster arrived with a strange looking wizard who sported a turban of some purplish-grey material upon his head. As they passed the Potions Master his eyes narrowed at the pungent odour of garlic that seemed to waft around the man like a clinging cologne. Severus noticed that a few of the other teachers wrinkled their noses at the unpleasant scent.

"Witches and wizards," began Dumbledore at the head of the table. "I would like to introduce to you our new Defense Against the Arts teacher, Professor Quirinus Quirrell." The man, who now appeared rather timid for the subject he would soon be teaching, nodded to his colleagues and gave them all a watery, nervous smile. "Quirinus is recently arrived from New Zealand where he was tracking the Nullam Corusco with the Night Creatures Contingent. Quirinus, I believe the chair beside Severus is free. Do join us for breakfast, won't you?"

"Of c-c-course, Headmaster," he stuttered. He moved swiftly, and then sat down in the unoccupied chair where he was immediately faced with a dark sneer from the resident Potions Master of Hogwarts. He blanched slightly, his cheeks paling unnaturally.

"I was given to understand that the Nullam Corusco is considered a myth, Quirrell," Severus posited. "Much like the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Quirell blinked, and then began a stuttered response, "Q-q-quite so, P-p-professor Ssssnape..." His voice faded as Severus suddenly gave him so dark a look of suspicion that the nervous teacher's stomach roiled in warning.

_It __is __the __way __he __said __my __name_, Severus' mind whispered. There had been another wizard, many years ago, who spoke his name in that manner; a sibilant caress. It made his skin crawl with foreboding. Before he could speak further to Quirrell, who glanced with a rather green-tinged countenance at a plate of eggs and sausage that had appeared, the morning Owl Mail arrived through the open window in the staff room.

Severus really was not expecting anything, and so had taken the diversion as an excuse to return to his paper. He was startled when an official looking envelope dropped through the news to land on the remains of his breakfast.

_Severus Snape_

_Hogwarts_

_Confidential: L. Candlemas_

Candlemas was the solicitor he had hired to handle any business regarding his ward. Breaking the wax seal on the folded parchment caused a short note on finer parchment to slip out. Severus snatched this one up.

_Professor Snape,_

_I forwarded this correspondence to you. Let me know as soon as you can if you want anything done regarding the content._

_L. Candlemas_

Frowning in curiosity, Severus removed a second letter that was a stiff paper of polished cotton fibers embossed around the edges with gold, and an imposing letterhead of more gold and a painfully hued royal blue. It was from the orphanage. He read it quickly.

_Sir,_

_Miss Granger has offended a teacher in class by raising her voice against said teacher. This warrants punishment in which the girl must sit upon the Stool of Shame during dinner, and receive three strips from the switch. In addition, the girl must write to you and apologise for her offense._

_Madame Jerusha Gingold_

Quirrell, catching the ominous burn of anger in his breakfast companion's eyes slid his chair closer to the Charms professor.

"Severus?" inquired the Headmaster. "Is all well?"

The Potions Master did not answer as he was busy reading the third letter that had been written on parchment that was familiar to him.

_Dear Benefactor,_

_I apologise for having caused you shame over my recent behavior. It was not right of me to object to Professor Prewett in class, and then to argue with her. I promise that I have learned my lesson, and will not question those who know better than me._

_I am to tell you that I received my three stripes like a good girl, and then sat on the Stool of Shame before all the other girls while they ate their dinner._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

Severus crushed the letter in his hand as he rose abruptly from his chair, nearly toppling it backwards. The Headmaster tried to stop him from leaving but he had slammed the door behind him before Dumbledore could finish what he intended to utter.

**!*!*!*!*!**

The Potions Master was on his knees, in his private quarters, his head engulfed in green flames. On the other side of the Floo Network, somewhere in Cornwall, a slightly balding wizard, also on his knees, was doing his best to placate the angry wizard.

"Please, Sir, I'll draft a letter right away!" Llewelyn Candlemas raised his hands to calm the string of cursing that he had been greeted with.

"By all means, Candlemas, send a letter... with Moody! Be sure that vulture understands that if she takes even a hand to my ward again, I will curse her with a twisted spine! She will also NOT withhold any meals from The Child! Is that understood?"

"Of course, Sir! Most certainly! I shall word your request very strongly, and I'm certain that Mr. Moody will be only too happy to deliver my letter." Candlemas wiped a green-checkered handkerchief across his forehead. He had heard that the Potions Master of Hogwarts had a volatile temper but he had not been expecting this show of anger.

As soon as the angry wizard was gone from his Floo, Candlemas drafted a superb, yet legally scathing letter to Madame Gingold, and then contacted ex-Auror Alastor Moody.

**!*!*!*!*!**

Alastor Moody arrived at the gates of Madame Gingold's Home for Orphaned Witches in a flourishing ribbon of grey smoke. He patted his pocket to make certain the lawyer's letter was still within.

Normally he would not have allowed the 'Soggy Bat' to send him as a courier, but when he had heard the circumstances, he had not hesitated in accepting the letter from Candlemas, and Apparating on the spot to the orphanage.

As he strode through the gates, a fat, little man in a fastidious uniform of blue and gold tried to stop him. He flicked a Tripping Hex at the man, causing him to fall over his own feet, which allowed Moody free reign to enter the quaint mansion with it many, graceful roofs.

His gruff entrance into the entry hall caused screams from a few girls that were there making their ways to their next classes. Moody ignored them until one child stopped him, her smile bright with pleasure in seeing him.

"Hello, Mr. Moody!" greeted Hermione. "What are you here for?"

"Official business, girl," he gruffed, but then managed a brief smile, which anyone else might have suspected was a snarl. "I heard about your trouble..." Hermione's face clouded as her cheeks blossomed pinkly. He was interrupted by a snooty voice addressing him.

"Mr. Moody, I take it you have business with me?" sneered Madame Gingold. The starched woman who affected the bearing of a queen with chronic dyspepsia stood up the landing of the grand staircase that led to classrooms, dormitories, and Jerusha Gingold's office.

Moody glowered his darkest at the woman. He leaned over Hermione, and spoke quietly, "I'll come fer tea this weekend, Hermione. I've gotta set this imperious bint right." He winked, which was quite a feat with one, natural eye.

Hermione smiled. "I'll see you later, then, Mr. Moody. Bye!"

Once Moody saw that she was on her way, he turned to face the woman whom he disliked very much. He stomped, rather nimbly, up the short staircase, and then loomed towards Madame Gingold.

"We have business, ma'am," he intoned, and brushed roughly past her to her own office.

**!*!*!*!*!*!**

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I know you know sort of what happened, and I'm grateful to you for sending Mr. Moody to set Madame Gingold straight. I was informed by Professor Prewett that it was decreed I wouldn't get the switch for any infractions, nor would I lose meals. I will have to help the house elves in the kitchen, or pull weeds from the garden if I cause trouble, but I'm fine with that._

_I did want you to know just what it was I did that caused my punishment since I couldn't elaborate in my formal apology._

_During History of Magic class we were learning about the Salem Witch Trials in colonial America and how that affected the witches and wizards of the time. It was a very interesting subject but Professor Prewett was wrong about the Muggle reason for the trials. There never has been an official explanation, by Muggles, just theories. When I raised my hand, and was called upon, I made it clear to the professor that what I was saying was the Muggle point of view. I don't know if wizards are right or not. She said that the wizards knew the trials had begun in America and all over Europe with the express purpose of discovering Dark Wizards. It was when she said the Muggles were doing it to punish those that had no religion, well, you see, sir, I had to say something!_

_And, I didn't argue! I swear I didn't! But, Professor Prewett says I did._

_I really am sorry, sir, and I won't do it again. I promise._

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

* * *

**_A/N: I'm very pleased at the reception my story has received so far. I thank everyone for their feedback and I apologize if I have not responded to you. It seems FF has recently changed how the reviews are replied to and it's basically giving me fits. In the meantime I do enjoy your reviews so please do not hesitate to let me know how the story is going for you. Thank you! ~etherian_**


	8. First Day of Term

_**September 1 – First Day of Term**_

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I almost don't know where to begin! It's been such an exciting day, and I know I ought to be asleep, but I'm too terribly wound up. I know, it's always best to start at the beginning, so King's Cross Station._

_Professor Elspeth Jangle was supposed to take me to the train station, but Mr. Moody arrived very early, and took me instead. I think Professor Jangle was a little relieved. She gets so intent upon her greenhouse sometimes that I wonder if she really wants to deal with us witches at all._

_No matter, she got her greenhouse, and I flew on Mr. Moody's broom to King's Cross. _

_That was terrifying! He was holding onto me, and I know he would never have let me fall, but... well, I hate to say this, but Mr. Moody is really mental! He flies sideways, and at such horrible speeds! It makes me re-think that silly nickname Harry Potter calls him; Mad-Eye._

* * *

**Severus coughed through an ill-timed sip of his chamomile. That insane, overgrown dunderhead was going to wind up killing his ward! He made a quick mental note to take Moody to task about flying with The Child, and not to ever do so, again!**

* * *

_Once we arrived at King's Cross it was really strange. There was a wall of brick that we had to run through to get to platform 9 and ¾. The Home doesn't have much in the way of magic, and mostly what you'll see is the Summoning Spell. Sometimes I forget about the magical world, so when Mr. Moody told me to just run at the brick wall I refused. I don't fancy a concussion on my first day at school! Eventually he became a bit annoyed with me, and pushed me through. I was about to... oh, let my temper fly, when I saw the Hogwarts Express. I've never seen a train more beautiful in my life!_

_I wanted to wait for the Weasleys, and Harry, but Mr. Moody hurried me onto the train. When I hugged him I swear he blushed! He did get more gruff, and ordered me to "be a good girl and study hard"._

_Before I knew it, the train was leaving. _

_I didn't find a car to sit in right away. There were lots of older students running around, and first years that looked lost. There were supposed to be prefects helping everyone, but I didn't see anyone, so I helped the firsties find places to sit until this one little boy bumped into me. His name was Neville, and he was crying..._

Hermione, who wore one of her new, black uniform skirts and a white blouse under a grey jumper, was happily walking quickly up and down the aisle of the moving train as she helped all the first years. She was caught off guard when she ran into a chubby, cherubic looking little boy whose cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were red with tears.

"What's wrong?" asked Hermione with genuine sympathy for the boy.

"It's Trevor," the child sniffled. Hermione automatically yanked out a handkerchief from her pocket, and gave it to him.

"Who's Trevor?" she asked very gently, wondering that something terrible might have happened to this person.

"I don't think – _sniffle_ – he much likes me," the child blew his nose noisily into the handkerchief. "He keeps runnin' off, and this time, I can't find him!" He sniffled terribly, again.

"I'll help you find your friend, but what does he look like?" she encouraged gently.

"He's dark green, with bumps on his back..." Hermione frowned. This didn't sound like a child. "He's a wicked jumper, when he wants to be," sighed the boy. "I really wanted an owl, but Trevor's Uncle Algy's frog and Gran didn't see any need for spending money on an owl."

"A frog!" Hermione did her best not to giggle, but she did smile. "Trevor's a frog!"

"Yeah," the boy frowned over another sniffle. "I thought you knew."

"I didn't, but now that I do, I think we ought to try and find him. By the way, I'm Hermione Granger, and you are...?"

"Neville Longbottom." He scrubbed away the last of his tears with his jumper sleeve, and smiled shyly at Hermione.

"Well, let's go, Neville. I'm sure Trevor didn't run away from you. He probably just got nervous from the train, and all the students." Hermione led the way down the only aisle along the train, sticking her head into the small, private cars.

"Do you have a familiar, Hermione?" asked Neville as they finished looking into their fifth car that had been filled with a group of older students; a couple had been snogging noisily.

Hermione shook her bushy hair. "I wanted a cat. A Muggle cat, but all I saw were kneazles. They're sort of cute, and maybe I'll get one later, but I did rather have my heart set on a cat."

"Hermione!"

A chorus of voices, and redheads, greeted Hermione as she stuck her head through the doors of the last private car on the Hogwarts Express. The car was stuffed with the Weasleys: Percy, Fred and George, and the youngest boy, Ron. In their midst was the dark haired boy, Harry Potter. She smiled at them all.

"It's a bit crowded in here, isn't it?" she giggled.

"We're Weasleys," quipped Fred.

"We travel together!" chuckled George.

"No, we don't!" groused Ron. "Me and Harry were here first, but then they all barged in!"

"I didn't barge in," sniffed Percy. "I was just checking up on you like mum asked me to." He tried to push between the twins to leave, and groused, "I just... can't... (!) get out of here now." For Percy's effort the twins squashed their older brother tighter together.

Harry peeked around Fred. "Who's he?"

Hermione looked behind her. "This is Neville Longbottom. He lost his frog, Trevor. We're looking for him. Have any of you seen him?"

Fred and George both stepped forward, each grabbed one of Hermione's wrists, and yanked her into the car. She yelped in protest as she fell onto Harry's lap.

The twins flanked Neville who looked worriedly up at the two boys.

"Don't you worry, Nev!" smiled Fred dropping a companionable arm onto the shorter boy.

"We know a place on the train," began George, who also dropped his arm onto the boy, but from the other side of the child.

"Where other familiars have gotten lost," finished Fred as they drew him away from the car.

"All right there, 'Mione?" chuckled Harry as he helped her to take the seat beside him.

"I'm fine." She beamed at Ron, and Harry. "Isn't this terrific?"

They both beamed back, and Percy snickered softly. "Look, you three enjoy the ride. I've got a meeting with all the prefects." Percy bustled out of the car, and Ron watched with some relief.

"Nosy Neddy, that one," Ron sighed dramatically. "He's a prefect this year. If he was a prat before, he's going to be impossible!"

"He's just being a big brother, Ron," Harry chided softly. "Besides, he kept you from eating that bon-bon."

Ron's eyes widened. "What bon-bon?" asked Hermione.

Harry explained, "It had some potion in it. Something tricky. The twins are always doing that. Gave me a lolly once that made all my fingers stick together."

Ron nodded, "Oh yeah! They put licorice spiders in my bed once, too." He shuddered.

Harry added mock-solemnly, "Oh, Ron! Remember when that peppermint tab sent smoke out little Ginny's ears while she squeaked?" He then snickered,

Ron clapped his hands together once, and grinned, "And when they spiked Percy's pumpkin juice and all his hair fell out!" Ron shook his head. "Bloke looked like a plucked chicken."

Harry chuckled, and shook his head at the memory. "Perce did get the twins by chasing them up the old oak tree."

Ron laughed, "And, then mum got to them."

"That's awful!" declared Hermione, angry on their behalf. "How can they do that to their own family?"

Harry giggled, and Ron snorted. Ron replied, "Sorta comes with bein' a Weasley, I guess. But when Mum catches them, she whacks 'em with her spoon, and they can't sit down to dinner."

Both boys were laughing, hard, but Hermione frowned. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd had a very painful spanking with a switch; a lethal piece of birch that might as well have been a cane. Three strokes, but it was enough to make sitting on the Stool of Shame during dinner exceedingly uncomfortable.

_...After coming across Harry, and Ronald, the twins – that's Fred and George – and Percy, Neville went with the twins to get Trevor. They said there was a place on the train that a lot of familiars wound up when they got lost. I really tried to find out where that was, but neither twin was giving up the secret._

* * *

**Severus Snape muttered knowingly, "The Observation deck is hardly a secret. Nobody ever really goes there, so it's the only place of peace for the familiars."**

* * *

_For nearly the rest of the ride, the twins teased us about the Sorting Hat Test, and warned us about the professors._

_They all like Professor McGonagall and said that she teaches Transfiguration and that it's really hard. George told us that he'd rather take Arithmancy in his sleep then take Transfiguration!_

_Professor Flitwick who teaches Charms, is another they like. Both twins agreed that Charms were really useful, and interesting, but then they said that Professor Binns was "dead boring" because he's dead._

_A ghost? A ghost teaching a class? How can that be boring?_

_Well, Professor Binns teaches History of Magic. I suppose I'll have to see for myself._

_Nobody likes Herbology, and that's Professor Sprout's class, but they do like Professor Sprout. Percy said that she's real nice, and both the twins say she's affectionate, yet stern like their mum is. I thought she was rather nice, patient really, when she came to the Home. My garden did very well, but I was terribly sad when Professor Jangle said we had to dig everything up. I'd really like to have my own garden again._

_The Potions teacher is Professor Snape. Nobody likes Professor Snape. Not even Ronald, and he hasn't even had him as a teacher, yet! The best I can figure out is that he is just plain mean to everyone._

_Professor Snape teaches Potions, which Harry says is sort of like Muggle Chemistry, but isn't. Even though Fred called Professor Snape a "greasy git", and George called him an "overgrown bat", they DO like Potions. Still, all the Weasleys have a lot of terrible names for him, and told me that he hates Gryffindors._

_I don't think Neville will like Potions, or Professor Snape. He just had this look on his face; like someone had taken Trevor away from him, again._

_I read about all the teachers in Hogwarts: A History, and was astounded to learn that Professor Snape had been a spy! He was even in Azkaban, and went on trial. It was Mr. Dum... sorry, Professor Dumbledore, who told the Wizengamot that Professor Snape had been a spy. Exciting, isn't it?_

* * *

"**Exciting is hardly the word I would use," groused Severus as his fingers snapped the parchment for emphasis.**

* * *

_I suppose that's enough about the train._

_We were met at the station by this unbelievably big man. Twice the height of my daddy..._

(It was at this point that the ink faded markedly, and had become smudged by splotches that very much appeared to be tears.)

_Rowing across a lake, at night, is... well, it's ridiculous! Hogwarts looked so very beautiful with all its lights blazing, but the lake was cold, and made me cold. Even now I can't stop sniffling._

* * *

**Severus lowered the letter and raised his hand. At a silent Summons, a small vial of potion sailed into his hand. "Razzie!" barked the professor. Within seconds a house elf with a somewhat lopsided grin that resembled more of a smirk, popped into being. **

"**What may Razzie be doing for Master Potions, sir?"**

**He held out the plain vial of smoked glass. "Take this to Miss Granger in Gryffindor tower. If she should ask, you are to tell her that it comes from the Infirmary. Make sure she takes all of it."**

**The elf nodded as he grasped the potion in his hand. "Is late, Master Potions. All children asleep."**

"**Then wake. Her. Up," her ordered tautly. "It is a simple decongestant with a portion of Calming Potion which will ease her right back into sleep."**

**The elf nodded, and vanished. Severus returned to the letter.**

* * *

… _And then, one of the girls fell into the lake, and she didn't know how to swim! Hagrid, the big man, just yanked her out by her robes, and then plopped her in the little boat. _

_Pansy, that's her name, was so mad. She called Hagrid an "oaf". Although it was sort of mean, I have to agree especially since he didn't do anything to dry her, or make her warm._

* * *

**Severus groaned. He had to agree; the idea of taking the first years across the Black Lake was insipid. He also had to agree that Hagrid was an oaf – the overgrown child had no sense, really. To allow a child to freeze while she was soaked to the skin? It was no wonder that Pansy Parkinson had to spend her first night in the Infirmary with sneezing, and a chest cold. Hopefully the potion he had delivered to The Child would prevent her own visit to the infirmary.**

**As much as he could recall of the castle when he was a first year, he, too, had ended up in the lake after Sirius Black had pushed him from the boat. Fortunately, Lily had warmed him, and chastised Black for his prank. **

* * *

…_After the boat ride across the lake we were ushered into a closet of a room, and met by the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall._

_Professor McGonagall is also the Head of Gryffindor House. She's very stern looking, and possibly in her sixties. I'm not really sure since I'm not at all used to the way witches and wizards age._

_Can you believe that a magical person, in good health, can look forward to nearly 250 years of life? I don't even want to mention what I learned about witches being able to bear children... ohhhh, I shan't go there, sir!_

* * *

**Severus snorted indelicately at the letter. "Just wait until you realise, Child, that our esteemed Headmaster is still a fertile, old, humbug!"**

* * *

_...Well, Professor McGonagall stands rather tall, and ramrod straight. Her hair has only a bit of grey in it, but it's pulled back in a very tight bun, and she has a habit of looking over her glasses at everyone. She sort of reminded me of Madame Gingold, only instead of just sneering at me like something was stuck up her nose, the professor sneered at everyone._

* * *

**The Potions Master never had cause to laugh during the reading of any of The Child's letters, but the entirely too accurate description of Minerva's condescending, and disapproving glare, was too much. Putting down the letter for the moment, Severus allowed himself a small chuckle, and freshened his tea by topping up the teacup.**

**Tapping his chin with one, slim index finger, the wizard realised that with The Child's letters he would be in receipt of some very interesting information about the students, and possibly his colleagues during her time at Hogwarts. His smirk was very Slytherin, at that moment.**

* * *

… _Ohhh you should see the Great Hall, sir! Were you a student at Hogwarts?_

_I've never seen anything so magnificent in my life before. It was like walking into the court of some magical king. The ceiling is enchanted and we were able to see the clear night sky sparkling with hundreds of stars. When I was able to look away, my eyes were drawn to the four long tables of the Houses._

_There are about forty to sixty students per House, and they each have a long table with benches for the students to sit upon. Each House had utensils, plates, and goblets of different metals. Slytherin had silver, Ravenclaw had copper, Hufflepuff had bronze, and Gryffindor had gold. At the end of each table, where the huge, arched doors into the Great Hall are, hang the banners of each House._

_The walls of the Great Hall are stone, but there are portraits that line the walls. I haven't learned who all of them are, but I will._

_At the front of the hall was a long table that was the staff table raised three steps above the floor. In the middle was a throne, and there was the Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. He smiled at all of us, but he gave me a wink when my eyes caught his. I knew whatever this Sorting Hat test was I ought to do fine with it..._

"Granger, Hermione!" Professor McGonagall's voice dominated the Great Hall with its officious tone.

Hermione had already come to the somewhat disgruntled conclusion that there was no Sorting Hat _Test_, and she was disappointed that Sorting seemed to consist of putting an old hat on one's head. Of course, it was a singing hat, too, that composed its own, bad poetry.

Obediently, Hermione made her way up to the tall stool where she was to sit. She eyed it warily since it reminded her too much of the Stool of Shame at the orphanage.

"Climb up, Miss Granger," the Deputy Headmistress urged gently.

"Oh! Yes... sorry ma'am..."

Severus had been watching the Boy, Harry Potter, but he turned away his surreptitious gaze to watch as his ward, The Child, ascended the rickety, three-legged stool. Like the Sorting Hat, the stool was probably new when the Founders had christened the school with the very first Sorting.

Finally seated on the tall stool the hat fell over her head, and then over her eyes. Hermione wrinkled her nose. She didn't care for the dark knowing that everyone in the Great Hall was watching her, but she also noticed a sort of unpleasant smell about the old, felt hat.

"You try maintaining a nice perfume after a thousand years of Sorting students without ever once having a bath," sneered the Hat, it's voice somehow in her head.

"No one's ever cleaned you?" asked Hermione. Her stomach roiled a tiny bit at the thought of all those heads... dander, and lice, and just plain dirty hair.

"I doubt anyone has ever thought of something so simple," mused the Hat.

"Somebody ought to," she groused softly.

"Do you mind if we get on with your Sorting, Miss Bossy-Britches?" sneered the Hat.

"Of course. How is this done? Do you ask me questions, or analyse my psyche, or...?"

"Would you silence that inquisitive mouth of yours, young lady?" demanded the Hat. "If you've a thought in that narrow cavity of your skull I certainly am unable to hear it at the moment!"

Hermione crossed her arms, and glowered at the darkness. This felt like it was taking forever!

The dark-haired Potions Master narrowed his dark gaze inquisitively as The Child crossed her arms stubbornly over her thin chest. The Hat was chatting with the girl! It rarely did that unless the first year was of an exceptional mind; something he had discerned from The Child's letters.

"Hmm," mused the Hat, "intelligence, but a strong, independent streak. Already learning to survive on your own, Bossy Britches?" Hermione did not reply, and the Hat chuckled smugly. "Not Slytherin, despite your ambition towards wanting to best all the students of Hogwarts. No finesse."

"Shut up," muttered Hermione.

"Ravenclaw? But, would that give you an advantage, academically, or isolate you more than you are? Nooooo, hmmm... Hufflepuff." The Hat sighed with a regretful tone. "Your heart is too hard for the Badgers. I think for you it is...GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouted, and Hermione pushed it from her head so swiftly that McGonagall could not catch it before it flopped to the ground.

Up at the staff table only one wizard did not join in the applause. Severus' lips thinned in simple disgust. No one would know that he had long since determined that his ward was destined for the House of Lions. Despite being right, it still annoyed him to see The Child join the raucous students.

Cheers from one table greeted Hermione, and she smiled briefly before rushing over. Percy Weasley greeted her, and the twins, Fred and George Weasley, thumped her back.

"How long did that take?" asked Hermione of Percy quickly.

Percy shushed Hermione. His eyes were on the next Sorting. Fred nudged her arm, and grinned. George whispered a reply, "Only a few seconds, Granger. Did you have a conversation with the Hat?"

"It needs a bath," she concluded sharply, and looked up as she heard Harry Potter's name called.

… _I suppose Gryffindor is an all right House, but there's entirely too much red and gold everywhere. And lions. I think it's rather an eyesore like Madame Gingold's office. They're all so noisy, too! Ronald and his brothers seem to be the worst. _

_Professor __McGonagall __came __in__to __assign __us __dorms, __and __hand __out __class __schedules. __She __studied __Harry __for __a __bit, __but __then __she __left. __Harry __was __too __busy __to __notice. __None __of __the __older __Gryffindors __seemed __to __mind, __but __myself, __and __a __couple __of __the_ _other __new __Gryffindors __were __a __bit __lost. __Not __for __long, __though. __As __I __suspected, __they __left __me __for __friends __of __their __own._

Hermione had retreated to a corner of the tower common room. In all the noise, the loudness of the red and gold decor, the plethora of lionic imagery in the knick knacks, and the wallpaper, and the sconces that held lit torches, she was the only place of quiet.

Older students jabbered on about summer, and that ever present sport, Quidditch. At an opposite corner was a group playing something, some sort of card game in which the cards were tossed, and exploded every few seconds. A putrid smell came from another group that were playing with little balls that squirted awful things. And, then there was chess being played with barbaric, animated pieces, a brutal sort of battling game that reminded Hermione of the strategy board game Muggles played called Risk. She wrinkled her nose as one piece beheaded another.

Disgusted, and desperate for peace, she slipped from the overly comfortable chair, and to the dorm she had been assigned with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Peace was not to be hers since the two first years had bonded, and were giggling madly over some magazine.

Getting dressed in her new nightgown of brushed cotton (it was ever so much softer than the one she wore at the Home!), Hermione climbed into bed and dragged the heavy drapes shut. The burgundy velvet muffled the two girls that were still giggling, and gushing over... make-up glamours? She then pulled the covers over her head, shut her eyes, and mouthed a soft goodnight to her parents' spirits.

A minor interruption came from a house elf wielding a potion to take for the sniffles that were annoying her. Once she was finally alone, she slipped easily into sleep, and would not wake until morning.

_I guess this is it for the rest of my day, sir. I hope that yours was a good day._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

_Gryffindor House, Hogwarts_

* * *

**Severus folded the letter as he had done with the others he had begun to keep, and rose from his chair. Summoning the non-descript box that he kept hidden behind a section of his own books on healing potions for children would displace the books and scatter them across the floor. He simply moved aside the section obscuring the box, had it hover at chest height as he unwarded it, opened it, and dropped the letter on top of the others. He then replaced the box, the books, and left his sitting room for his own bed.**

**The Head of Slytherin would have at least three hours of sleep before the first new Snake would awaken to homesickness; a malady only soothed by a cup of hot chocolate.**


	9. Potions Class

_**September 6, Friday – Potions Class**_

* * *

First year Potions. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Severus Snape stood in his office, not entirely nervous, but his blood burned with the dread, and slight anticipation he always greeted a group of first years at the beginning of term with. He straightened his spine, and squared his shoulders. As if looking into a full length mirror that was not there, he adjusted his teaching robes, and smoothed the long frock coat.

Using an Enhancement Spell combined with an Eavesdrop Charm, the Potions Master was clearly able to hear the curious students arriving in his classroom. School robes rustled as dozens of black patent leather shoes, and brown leather boots click-clacked on the rough slate floor. Benches were soon squeaking as the natural division of Gryffindor versus Slytherin parted the students one House to each side of the room.

Severus hesitated a moment. Not only would he be encountering James Potter's son in this session, but he would finally be seeing The Child. Oh, he had seen Hermione Granger at the Welcoming Feast on the first day of term but she had been surrounded by the noise that was Gryffindor, the House he had anticipated she would be Sorted into. What little attention he had spared had been for Harry Potter.

It struck him as odd that having lived for nearly two years with his adoptive family, the Weasleys, there was still an aura of hesitancy about young Potter. Harry Potter was as wide-eyed as any eleven year old but not at all as loud, or even as boisterous as his adoptive brothers were. He did not appear to have the arrogance of his father, but did he have the sneaky, rule-breaking nature?

Severus would find out soon enough. It was time to enter the classroom, and greet his students. A feral smirk brushed across his features before vanishing under a facade of controlled stone.

!*!*!*!*!

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_Today was Potions class. I don't think I quite like it._

_Professor Snape is the teacher I mentioned in an earlier letter. He's also the Head of Slytherin. He seems awfully biased towards his own House, and doesn't seem to like Gryffindors at all. Or Harry._

_It really was awful. Harry was pleased to see Professor Snape when he arrived, at first. He even answered the questions that the professor had about bezoars, and asphodel and wormwood, and wolfsbane and aconite. The professor seemed mad that Harry knew the answers, and didn't even give him a point! What's worse is that I kept trying to answer other questions that Professor Snape asked during the lecture, but he took 5 points off for me being obnoxious! He was being obnoxious by ignoring my raised hand!_

_I don't understand._

_Hermione_

**!*!*!*!*!**

Severus crushed The Child's letter in his hand, but quickly released it. It was annoying that the school owl only had to travel a very short distance to deliver his ward's letters. This meant that her latest letter had arrived the evening of the same day of Potions for the first years.

Of course he had no fondness for Gryffindors, but he could not show any favouritism towards the Boy-Who-Lived. Not when he was Head of House over the progeny of Death Eaters. Not with the Dark Lord showing signs of returning.

Severus intended to keep his promise to Lily to watch over her child, and he would protect his ward, as well. He just could not be pleasant to either of them in public.

The Potions Master smoothed out the wrinkled parchment and re-read the short missive. He sneered softly. A five point loss had been generous, for him. That incessant hand-waving of hers merited more. His teeth ground, making the headache that had been dissipating, worse. By the end of the double session of class he had been very tempted to use a Limb Removal Curse on her upraised arm.

**!*!*!*!*!**

"_The girl simply wants to prove herself," Minerva had clucked in the short staff meeting after dinner of that same Friday._

_It was more of an end-of-the-week gathering in which complaints were made, and praises begun. The Headmaster simply listened to all of it; his eyes twinkling with that serenely demented smile upon his face._

"_Every time I turned," sighed Filius, "her hand was in the air. I don't mind enthusiasm, but there has been quite a grumble of complaint in my House. She really doesn't give anyone else a chance to answer a question." _

"_Little Saucy Britches had the gumption to argue with me about broom safety," harrumphed Rolanda, the professor of the brooms-flying class. "Haven't even had a class with the first years, yet, and she was lecturing **me** on the perils of brooms-flying for youngsters!" Madame Hooch had glowered, then tossed a slim book on the staff table. _

_Severus snatched up the book. It had not been the one he had sent to his ward, but was a leather-bound tract found in the Hogwarts Library. "A Treatise on Brooms-Flying: Specifically in Regards to Children by Thomasina Arch." Severus dropped the volume back to the table. "Is Miss Arch in error in regards to her hypothesis, Hooch?"_

_Rolanda's entire face seemed to melt in disgust, "Thomasina Arch works in the financial department of the Ministry, Snape. Never flown a day in her life! Afraid of heights, I hear."_

"_I had to take points, I'm afraid," sighed Pomona as she glanced apologetically at Minerva. "Enthusiasm is one thing, but to actually interrupt me when I am lecturing about Muggle herbs..." here, the grey-haired witch had simply shaken her head, and imbibed a long draught of her tea._

"_Tsk," piped in Minerva. "According to your report, Pomona, Miss Granger argued with you in regards to the dangers of Mandragora Root."_

"_Muggles may see Mandragora as dangerous, but as Severus would confirm, it is imminently helpful in a number of potions," asserted Pomona._

_Over the lip of his teacup, his eyes sparkling bemusedly, Severus added, "And Mandragora boiled is the base of a very potent, and fast-acting poison." He received scowls from both Minerva and Pomona. He lowered his teacup, and glanced over at the diminutive Head of Ravenclaw. "Your Ravens are always discussing various aspects of the days lesson with an instructor. Is a willingness to gather knowledge to be discouraged, now?" His eyes had slipped back to Pomona._

"_My Ravens know better than to interrupt their teachers, Severus," chided Filius._

_Pomona added scathingly, "I've never known you to allow debate in your classes, Severus."_

"_On the contrary, Pomona. Such debate is vital in my NEWTs classes. The lower classes, though, do not do well with discourse. They tend to use the excuse of questions, and debate if it goes that far, as more of a delaying tactic when brewing, or the taking of a test is imminent." Severus then aimed a smug smirk at Filius. "And, yes, Filius, even your prized Ravens are not above using a question to delay a quiz, or a difficult brewing."_

"_You had thechild in class today, did you not, Severus?" the Headmaster's question interrupted the Potions Master. A slight curl touched his lower lip in annoyance at the easy, conversational tone of the Headmaster. Severus knew better than to believe the question was a blithely innocent one; Albus had used the Potions Master's own label for Hermione Granger in the asking._

_Severus pretended to be unconcerned as he replied, "Miss Granger wanted to answer every question I asked today. What's more, she wished to do so while another answered instead. I assume there must have been blood loss to her fingers for having held her hand up so long."_

"_You never let her answer one question?" Minerva inquired, yet her tone was accusatory._

"_I will not indulge a show-off, Minerva," he bit out. "And, I refuse to listen to the contents of a textbook regurgitated, verbatim, by an eleven year old. Either she constructs a thought of her own, or I shall continue to ignore her."_

"_Really, my boy," chided the Headmaster gently, and Severus' eyes moved away from the Head of Gryffindor swiftly. "How can you know that her answers will be a recitation if you do not allow her to answer a question?"_

_Severus narrowed his gaze wondering, briefly, if the Headmaster somehow had access to the letters his ward sent him that he had hidden away. In her correspondence, even before she had arrived at Hogwarts, The Child had revealed that not only had she read all of her textbooks but that she had been in the process of memorising them so she would be ready for questions from her teachers. **Would ****that ****eagerness ****not ****reveal ****one ****who ****could ****only ****recite ****the ****words ****memorised? **His mind harrumphed within._

"_One answer per class, then, Albus," conceded Severus as he inclined his head slightly. "After all, the other students must be allowed to participate as well."_

"_You might speak to the girl," chided Minerva half-heartedly. She knew her admonition was not well-received when the younger wizard glared hotly at her._

"_And why must I speak with her when it is obvious her... enthusiasm annoys you all?" His glare smoothly encompassed all of his colleagues before his gaze settled on the stiff matriarch of Gryffindor. "Are you not her Head of House, Minvera? I would think it your responsibility to say something to her." _

_Albus cleared a throat that did not need clearing, and when Severus glanced guiltily at the older man, the Headmaster shook his head only enough for the younger wizard to see, and to understand. Dumbledore wanted him to speak to The Child. Then, with a regal inclination of his hoary head he dismissed the meeting._

Severus read The Child's letter one last time, and then rose from his chair to place it with the others. As he turned, the flames in his fireplace whooshed into the acid green of a Floo. Grasping his left arm, the young wizard had a sudden vision of a very similar glow of green that meant death. He felt, suddenly, frozen.

"Severus!" called the Headmaster's voice. "If I may, I wish to speak to you a moment before you retire."

The younger wizard blinked. Returned to himself, he quickly hid and warded the box of letters, then he allowed the Headmaster through the green flames.

Albus immediately settled himself in the more worn, leather chair. The one Severus always favoured for himself. Gritting his teeth he left the area of the bookcase where the letters were hidden, and seated himself. Usually he would just stand, but Dumbledore had the bearing of a wizard who wished to pretend this was merely a visit.

"Tea, Headmaster?" Severus asked quietly.

"Please," the old man sighed, making himself more comfortable in the chair.

Severus quickly ordered tea, and served it. "Two slices of lemon, and four sugars, Headmaster," he said with a slight grimace as he handed over the cup.

"Thank you, Severus." He sipped delicately at the steaming liquid. "Perfection!"

The younger wizard had poured himself a cup of tea, but he did not drink the dark liquid. "What did you wish to speak to me about, Albus?" He allowed only a touch of acerbity to his silken voice.

"I heard from Jerusha Gingold today," he mused over the lip of the china cup. Severus nodded. The report that the Headmaster received this morning was more than likely a copy of the one that his solicitor had forwarded to him. "I found it interesting that apparently you have decreed Miss Granger's punishments from now on, and the lady is rather miffed over this. I was not aware that as her Benefactor you were given such leeway. Miss Gingold is, technically, still the guardian of all the girls in her Home."

Severus was quiet for a moment as he tried to push away the throbbing of his head. "She was under the impression that she could not only beat my ward..." He caught a suspicious twinkle, and snarled, "Yes, Albus, my ward! That woman will not get away with beating a child with a switch, and withholding meals, as well."

"As I understand it, Severus, you are, in the eyes of Wizarding law, Miss Granger's Benefactor, and only in a fiscal sense."

"Perhaps, Headmaster," he sneered pointedly. "But it was you who sent her a birthday gift that first year in my name and allowed her to correspond with me! You charged me to protect the girl. Do you also mean for me to step aside as she is cruelly treated?"

Smoothly the Headmaster interrupted, "And I expect you weren't cruel to young Harry today?"

The Potions Master was quiet but his lips thinned to a dangerous white as a sneer curled at the left of his mouth. "May I _remind_ you, Albus, that I am watched, nearly every possible hour, by children who are entirely faithful to their parents who are Death Eaters? Young Malfoy being the worst."

Albus did not react at all to the younger wizard's taut anger. He continued, "Lucius Malfoy is in a precarious position, my boy, and you are entirely aware of this. He has attempted to exonerate the name of Malfoy to the Wizarding world. It is a pity that young Malfoy's attitude served to only turn away Harry instead of making him a friend."

"It is done, Albus. Therefore, my hands are tied. I must not be seen to have anything to do with that Potter boy." Severus sighed heavily, allowing some of his anger to fall away. "In turn, neither can I favour any of his friends, or Weasley brothers."

"It is convenient, then, Severus, that they are all in Gryffindor." The Headmaster smiled, but there was no warmth in his blue eyes.

Severus grimaced and glared at his now cold tea. "What is it you wish of me, Albus?"

"Harry will need someone..."

"Albus...!" the Potions Master protested with irritation.

The old wizard held up his hand. "Listen to me, Severus," he interrupted quietly. "You told me that you swore to Lily on the birth of her son that you would always keep him safe..."

Severus interrupted again, "And, I _have_, Albus. Was it not I who insisted upon closer examination of his home life with the Dursleys?"

"Indeed it was, my boy, and I cannot thank you enough for having done so," he smiled, but Severus stilled as he detected the weariness beneath it. "Harry will need to learn much more than what is taught at Hogwarts. More than what I can teach him." The younger man's lips thinned stubbornly, and for a moment Albus could only muse to himself that it was not always Gryffindors who could be dense. "I am not asking you to change the way your actions are perceived towards the boy in public, Severus, but I am asking that you do not distance yourself from him." For a moment Albus removed his silver spectacles from his thin nose, and closed his eyes.

Severus watched the man seated before him. He understood what the old wizard was asking of him but there was something more behind the request. _And, __I __do __not __believe __for __a __second __that __this __is __a __request_, his thoughts observed to themselves.

"Albus, are you all right?" he asked with restrained concern.

Slowly, perhaps deliberately, the Headmaster replaced his glasses, and opened his eyes. He smiled gratefully. "Poppy has scolded me for working too hard lately. As she says, I am no longer in my seventies." He rose smoothly, and Severus could only marvel at the change in the old man's outward appearance in that simple motion. A tired, old man slipped away, replaced by the self-assured power of the wizard who had defeated Gellert Grindewald, and was the only one to ever have struck fear in the heart of Voldemort.

The Headmaster rested a hand upon his Potions Master's shoulder. "My boy, I understand that you feel you must assuage your sins by returning to Voldemort's side, but that is not needed. Trust me when I say that keeping Harry alive is what I wish of you, now." He touched the younger wizard's cheek with his index knuckle, and spoke nearly in a whisper. "I believe, Severus, that if young Harry does not trust you, then all our efforts will dissolve to ash. Please, find a way."

"And Miss Granger?" Severus asked, feeling like a puppet dangling helplessly from only one attached string. "Am I to be her Benefactor, or Guardian?"

Albus smiled. "Ahh, Miss Granger. Let us not get fixated on labels, dear boy. I believe you have done well by the child so far, and I wish you to keep doing what you feel is right." He caught the beginning of a protest in the younger man's frame. "Regardless of what the law defines, Severus. I trust you."

With that gentle encouragement the Headmaster threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames, and returned to his tower for the evening.

**!*!*!*!*!**

_**September 7, Saturday**_

In the Gryffindor common room, just before the great grandfather clock by the door struck eight that early morning, Hermione was upon the sofa next to Neville Longbottom. One of their textbooks was open across both their laps. Hermione, a short girl who would probably remain so as she had inherited her height from her petite mother, was seated with her legs stretched out across the width of the sofa without dangling over. Neville's own pose mirrored hers.

Hermione, her wand out, was describing wand movements in front of them both.

"The pronunciation, the movements of your wand, all serve to focus your intent upon the charm. So, you practice first, Nev, and then try it." Hermione watched with studious caution as Neville used his own wand.

Neville's wand was sure, but his pronunciation was terrible, "Wingardumlahvosa!"

"No, no! Neville, you have to pay attention!" she scolded. "See what the page says?"

Neville read in silence the words his friend was pointing towards. "Aloud, Neville," Hermione encouraged softly.

"Uhmmmm, Win... gard... ium... Levi... o... sa." He sighed in partial defeat. "That's not what I said."

Hermione smiled softly and patted his shoulder. "No, it wasn't, Nev, but it's very good you caught that. Try again."

Neville sighed, then glared down at the floor in front of them both at a crumpled up piece of parchment. He pointed his wand at it, then made the movements. Once he felt sure he had them he very solemnly intoned, "Win-gardium Levi-osa!"

The first year Gryffindor's eyes widened as the crumpled ball of parchment shuddered, and then rose up nice and straight. Hermione clapped her hands, and Neville grinned. "I did it!"

"See? You _can_ do it, Nev! You just have to have faith in yourself." Hermione closed the textbook.

Neville sighed and leaned back against the sofa. The ball parchment drifted back to the floor. "My Uncle Algy always told me I'm a slow piece of dung on a dirty river."

"Oh, Nev!" she sympathised. "You don't really believe such an awful thing, do you?"

"Well, he did have to push me out a window to prove I had magic," he said with a shrug.

Hermione stared in astonishment. After a few seconds she hissed, "He didn't!"

Neville nodded. "Uncle Algy said it was the only way, and I figure it was all right since my grandmother didn't say it was wrong. She was just happy that it worked."

"How high was the window, Nev?" asked Hermione worriedly.

"Pretty high," mumbled Neville. He would not admit that ever since the day Uncle Algy had sent him out the window at age ten, he had never visited the towers of the Longbottom manse again.

Hermione, feeling the encroaching awkward silence, broke it with a smile. "Let's go get Harry and Ron, and get some breakfast, Nev."

Neville, appreciating the rescue from maudlin thoughts, smiled brilliantly. "I'm hungry!"

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I have a best friend in Gryffindor. Do you remember when I wrote to you about the boy who lost his familiar on the train? His name is Neville Franklin Longbottom._

_I don't know why Nev's in Gryffindor, but I guess since I'm not sure I belong either it doesn't matter. _

_Nev is a very sweet boy but he's very quiet. It's nice being around him especially when the common room is so noisy. He's just terribly nervous, though, about being a wizard, I think. He told me that his uncle actually threw him out of a window to make his magic appear! Nev's grandmother didn't even object! I am so disgusted._

* * *

**Severus grimaced. He had not been aware of the inept seeming boy's home-life. "Not that I wanted to know," groused the wizard.**

**He had not gone to breakfast that morning, choosing a quiet repast in his quarters. The delivery of The Child's letter along with the Daily Prophet had been a surprise. Quickly, he had opened the letter, and read it while he sipped at his morning coffee.**

* * *

… _Neville isn't doing so well in most of his classes except for Herbology. He's amazing there, and I know Professor Sprout thinks the world of him._

_Did you know there are 32 varieties of magical mushrooms? Fourteen can be found in the Forbidden Forest. Two, the Ice Mushroom and the Snow Cap, only arrive in Winter at the dead of night. _

_Neville knew all about them._

_Professor Sprout told us that Professor Snape gathers all the rare flora in the Forbidden Forest. I sort of wish we could go see them with the professor, but he probably wouldn't want us along._

_Neville, Harry, Ron, and I are all going to tea at Hagrid's this afternoon. He's the caretaker of the grounds, and of all the animals here at Hogwarts. Harry told me that Hagrid went to Diagon Alley with him and the Weasleys at the beginning of term and then gave him Hedwig, that's Harry's owl, for a birthday present._

_Have a great day, sir,_

_Hermione_

* * *

**Severus folded the letter and put it away with the others. He turned as he caught the tell-tale glow of green, flickering light coming from his fireplace.**

"**Severus! So glad I caught you before you began brewing this weekend," came the Headmaster's voice from the Floo. "I have something I'd like you to do..." **

* * *

_A/N: Today is my anniversary. 19 years with my husband. So, I had to post a chapter for everyone._

_I would like to address a concern: The romance I am intending is only after Hermione is 18. The book, Daddy Long-Legs, ended with Jerusha/Judy Abbott falling in love, and marrying her benefactor. I began this story with the intention of ending on the first flush of a romance between Severus and Hermione, but that may be derailed. Your opinions would really help me to decide what I might write so if you have a thought, do chime in._


	10. Tea With Hagrid

_**September 7, Saturday – Tea with Hagrid**_

* * *

"I should be brewing," the Potions Master grumbled to himself. Indeed, usually on the weekends, once the grading was complete, he would be cloistered away in his private lab deep beneath the castle brewing potions for Poppy, and working on his own theories, and experiments.

"Instead, I am going to a bloody tea!"

A stiff breeze grasped the hem of Severus outer cloak and raised it up, and outward, giving him the appearance of some great predator bird advancing down the narrow path to Hagrid's hut upon the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Just that morning at breakfast the Headmaster had informed him of the groundskeeper's little tea party and that Severus was to attend. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had twinklingly been ordered, and so he went.

"Come in!" came the large man's voice from the interior at Severus' knock.

Taking a deep breath, Severus pushed open the door, and ventured into the close interior.

Hagrid's hut did fit him, and it gave Severus a disconcerted feeling to be amongst tables, and chairs that were all larger than he was. Glancing at one of those chairs he knew that he would soon be taking the unenviable pose of a child in a large chair. Even the teacups were large, and he would need both hands to hold one.

"Hagrid," Severus grit out in greeting.

"Perfessor! I wa'nt expecting you fer tea! The children oughta be here, soon. Ye sure ye want to be joinin' us?" Hagrid asked affably as he removed some greyish looking lumps of his own infamous rock cakes from the earthenware oven attached to the fireplace.

Severus glanced at the rock cakes and appeared a touch grey himself. "The Headmaster wishes me to take tea this afternoon, Hagrid. As a chaperone, I suppose. You are having quite the gathering, I understand, Hagrid?"

Hagrid nodded. With the rock cakes on a chipped platter, he turned to remove a large jar of plum preserves from a wooden food cabinet. Severus grimaced as the taller man stuck a stubby finger into the preserves, removed a large dollop, and stuck it into his mouth. Now he FELT grey.

Smacking his lips at the sweetness of the preserves, Hagrid plopped the jar upon the table, checked the cups, and withdrew one more from a separate cabinet.

"I invited the Weasleys, but Percy told me he had some homework ta do. Tha twins mentioned summat about needin' more ammunition? Can't think what that might be. My pumpkins was just planted," he sighed worriedly. In their very first year the twins had taken the seeds from one of his large pumpkins and charmed them into little missiles that went after the Slytherins. "Ron and 'Arry's comin' and he's bringing 'Ermione, and her friend, Neville."

Severus slumped lightly against the wall, and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a Gryffindor convention. _How__ever __in __the __world __am __I __to __maintain __a __cover __of __still __being __loyal __to __the __Dark __Lord __if __I __am __seen __taking __tea __with __Gryffindors?_ Severus vowed to send a silent Hummingbird Hex to vex the Headmaster.

Several knocks came on the door, and Hagrid smiled through his beard. "Come in!"

Severus stepped out of the way of the opening door and slipped smoothly and quietly behind it.

"Hi, Hagrid!" came the chorus of greetings.

Ron grinned up at the very tall man. "Fred and George are in detention, Hagrid, but they asked for some of your rock cakes. Is that all right?"

"Sure thing, Ron!" Hagrid dutifully began to wrap a selection of the hard, grey cakes into a large handkerchief. "Whut brought on tha detention this time, Ron?"

Harry giggled, and Neville looked a bit ill. "They charmed thumbtacks to go after Filch." Ron snickered. "McGonagall wasn't half happy about that."

"It was mean, Ron," came the angry voice of Hermione. Her glare silenced the laughter of both boys. "Mr. Filch was poked by twenty of those thumbtacks..." she huffed tartly. "How he's going to be able to sit down..."

That brought snorts from Harry and Ron. Hermione huffed, and decided it was better to ignore her idiot friends. "Hi, Hagrid. I'm Hermione, and this is Neville. Thank you for inviting us to tea."

"Yer welcome, 'Ermione," Hagrid beamed. He was charmed by the small girl. "'Ave a seat, Neville, 'Ermione. You too, Ron an' 'Arry. Tea's all ready."

As Harry settled beside Ron, he pushed his glasses up his nose into their proper place.

"Why are you wearing glasses, Potter?" demanded Severus in a low, dark voice that came from the shadows of the hut's interior. "You are a wizard, are you not?"

Hermione squeaked in alarm, and Ron, Harry, and Neville jumped in surprise as their teacher emerged from near the closed door where none of them had seen him.

Harry watched as his Potions professor perched himself upon the edge of one of the large chairs.

"I know I'm a wizard, sir," began Harry as a touch of aggrieved annoyance crept into his demeanor. "What's that got to do with my glasses?"

"Other than some older wizards, Potter," Severus took a brief second to sneer at Hagrid as the near-giant started to spoon copious amounts of sugar into the Potions Master's tea. Hagrid pulled the still full spoon away, and promptly dumped the sugar in Hermione's cup. The young girl's upper lip curled in dismay at all the sugar. "Have you seen any other children with glasses?"

"Of course I have!" interjected Harry, frowning slightly.

"Wizarding children, Potter," Severus clarified in a smug drawl, a smirk at the corner of one lip.

Still frowning, Harry did his best to recall if he had seen anyone else with glasses. Adults, yes. Most of those wizards and witches had to be over 70, he figured. His own poor eyesight had been disguised by a glamour since he was nine years old and with the Weasleys as a red-headed cousin. Through the glamour, though, he had still been aware that his glasses were on his face. With his glasses invisible, cousin Cove Weasley had an odd habit of sliding a finger up the bridge of his nose every few minutes.

"No, sir. I don't think I've seen anybody else with glasses." He then smiled briefly. "Oh, Hagrid! The photo album you gave me for my tenth birthday showed my dad with glasses and he wasn't old!" He gave the Potions teacher a smug _'there, hah!'_ look.

"Aye, 'Arry!" agreed Hagrid as he slurped at his own tea, frowned at it, and added two more sugars.

Severus sipped cautiously at his tea. It had not steeped long enough and was woefully weak. "Mr. Potter, your father had a rare problem with his eyes that could not be wholly cured, or adjusted by magic. Do you know if you have the same condition?"

Harry mumbled softly. "I don't know, sir. My aunt never had my eyes examined and I don't think Mum Molly ever really thought of it since nobody could see my glasses. Does it matter?"

Severus deliberately put down his teacup and glared at the boy. "Do NOT get smart with me, boy," he snarled shortly. "Of course it matters, you twit." Harry's lips thinned. Ron glowered, and Hermione slid forward in her chair, ready to champion her friend. Neville caught her by the sleeve of her robe to pull her back.

Drawing in a steadying breath, the older wizard leaned forward, "Mr. Potter, it matters because you should want to be at your best as a wizard. This means making certain of the condition of your eyes, and whether or not those glasses are truly necessary."

Harry did not like the close proximity of his teacher, and he took a moment to swallow convulsively several times to calm the rough beating of his heart. Once it had calmed sufficiently what his teacher was implying finally sunk in. He grinned sharply at his teacher, and then his friends. "So I might not need glasses at all?" Severus simply nodded and took another sip of the weak and tepid tea.

**!*!*!*!*!**

_**September 11 – A Letter**_

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_On the seventh, a Saturday, we had tea at Hagrid's hut. That was myself, Harry, Ron, and Neville. It was quite a surprise when Professor Snape showed up for tea!_

* * *

"**I have no doubt it was," snorted Severus quietly as he read The Child's current letter.**

* * *

_The professor talked about Harry's glasses and then said he would escort all of us to Diagon Alley after classes on Monday to the Ocularist. We call them Opthamologists in the Muggle world, but I like the name Ocularist._

_I read that an Ocularist is a Healer that specialises in maladies of the eyes and uses spells and potions to heal eye problems. In some cases, like Harry's father, James, Muggle type lenses were designed and imbued with specific spells designed for specific problems._

_At the Ocularist, Professor Snape informed the Healer that James Potter had a deterioration in his left eye due to a bad spell when he and his best friend Sirius Black were children. Professor Snape muttered something about, "...idiots stole their fathers wands..."_

_James didn't need a prosthesis like Mr. Moody's bad eye, but he did wear glasses that had been charmed to aid in his eyesight for future._

_Harry has Myopia with lax eye muscles because he never had proper glasses. That terrible aunt of Harry's just bought him a pair of cheap old charity glasses, and never did anything to help him._

* * *

"**Of course not," muttered Severus darkly. "Blasted woman could not be bothered to care for anything more than her good name, her whale of a son, and her perfect house." All of which Severus took grim satisfaction in knowing were gone. **

**Although Vernon had spent far too short a time in Muggle jail for his abuse towards his nephew Petunia had divorced her husband over the shame of it all. Her son, meanwhile, had been taken by the authorities. Dudley had been grossly overweight with atrocious eating habits. To Petunia's horror this was viewed by the Muggle authorities as child abuse. Even though she spent no time in prison, she had nothing to do with her son, and she was now a maid, cleaning the loos of those in a better financial position than her.**

* * *

_The Ocularist gave Harry a new pair of glasses, which are gold, wire-rims, and very smart looking. He'll wear those for a year while the charms in the lenses work on the muscles of the eyes. Harry is so happy he won't have to wear glasses anymore!_

_I'm not sure what to think of Professor Snape. I doubt very much he wanted to be with us at all. I would have thought our Head of House, Professor McGonagall, would have taken us, but maybe, since she is also the Deputy Headmistress, she couldn't. What confuses me, sir, is that Professor Snape is just as nasty with us as he is in class, but he's doing nice things for us._

_Why?_

"Mr. Weasley!" snapped Severus as his headache, one of many on this Saturday, bloomed amongst the synapses of his brain. "Close your mouth when you are masticating, and sit up straight! Have you no manners?"

"Mafti... whut?" said Weasley with his mouth full.

"Chewing," hissed Hermione as she grimaced at the sight of half-mashed sandwich in the young boy's mouth.

They were eating at the Three Broomsticks after Harry's visit to the Ocularist in Hogsmeade. Severus could only stomach a strong coffee while the brats indulged in sandwiches, pumpkin juice, and chattering over the day so far. He told himself that he was content to let them all starve for the day, but that Dumbledore expected Severus, as their escort, to treat them well.

Ron Weasley snapped his mouth shut abruptly, and stiffened his spine, but not without a sneaky glare at his teacher as soon as the professor looked away.

"Your glasses look wonderful, Harry!" complimented Hermione.

Harry grinned. "I really like how well I can see stuff, 'Mione." He swallowed a gulp of his pumpkin juice. "Isn't Hogsmeade great?"

"All the shops look fascinating," agreed Hermione. "Sir," she carefully addressed their teacher who was scowling at his mug of coffee with possible murder in mind. "Could we..."

Severus did not move his gaze as he snarled dangerously, "No, Miss Granger, we cannot."

"But, sir," she persisted. "I've run out of parchment and quills, and Scrivenshaft's is so close by..." She suddenly stopped as a pair of dark eyes hovering malevolently over a hooked nose, and sharp cheekbones, captured her own wide, doe eyes. She swallowed dryly, and began to stammer while she looked to the boys for help.

They were all equally, and studiously, focused upon their sandwiches.

"What part of the word_ 'no'_ is difficult for you to comprehend, Miss Granger?" The professor's voice dripped like acid.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed, and her eyes widened. She was terrified, but she did not want to be. She wanted to dredge up that supposed 'Gryffindor courage', but it seemed to be off doing something else.

"I could really use some new quills, sir."

Severus attention snapped to the quietest member of the Gryffindor group, Neville. "Longbottom!" He snapped the boy's name out like a whip.

Neville swallowed convulsively, then cleared his throat. "If you please, Professor, I really do need some new quills."

The Potions Master leaned back in his chair just as Harry piped up, "Perce says my writing would be much easier for the teachers to read if I used a quill with a nib, sir."

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "Scrivelsnaft's is supposed to have the best quills, I heard!"

"Scrivenshaft's, Ron," Hermione whispered a correction. She smiled at the boys, then turned back to face her teacher. Her 'Gryffindor courage' had come back with the unexpected support of her friends. "I'm sure we won't be very long, Professor Snape. Please? May we?"

The Potions Master had to admit that the older way of cutting, and sharpening a quill was a rather useless art for any student. Not to mention that even his Slytherins had wound up clipping quill cuttings right into their cauldrons by accident when they attempted to take notes while brewing. If the Potter boy's handwriting would improve with a more wizard-modern quill with a nib, then who was he to argue? As for his ward, her habit of writing him nearly every week had no doubt considerably depleted her supplies. As for Longbottom, and the youngest Weasley? Those two forgot to bring quills more times than Gryffindor had points, and two weeks had not even gone by in the term.

"Fine," Severus gave in with a shrug of his shoulders. He then pointed a finger at the four first years. "Any dawdling will result in points lost once we return to Hogwarts. Is that clear?"

They all nodded obediently, and Hermione beamed at her teacher; and Severus felt an odd wilting deep within his belly.

_Tomorrow we have our first flying class. I'm not looking forward to it since Madame Hooch wasn't at all happy with me about informing her of the safety spells I'd learned from the book you sent me. I suppose I'm the only one not looking forward to it._

_Ron and Harry fly at home so I suppose the lessons will just be fun for them. Neville said he's never flown. He hates heights, too._

_Goodnight, sir,_

_Hermione_


	11. Minerva Gets A Howler

_**September 13 – Minerva Gets a Howler**_

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_Is there any way I could get out of the brooms-flying class? You probably don't know if I could, but our first brooms-flying class was yesterday, and it was terrible!_

_First of all Neville is in the Hospital with a broken wrist. When he was mounting his broom it just suddenly went wild. It reminded me of a bucking bronco being broken on some western show I saw on television. The broom went crazy, and my heart just stopped when suddenly it soared so high in the air – straight up. There's an old, abandoned observation tower on the grounds where we have class and the broom flew with Neville right up to the top._

_I think I screamed. Or, someone did._

_Especially when I thought he was going to fall right to his death when he slipped off the broom. There was some sort of iron thing, a hook jutting from the tower that caught on Neville's robe. It slowed him just enough that Madame Hooch cast some sort of charm on the ground to soften his landing. Unfortunately, he landed on his hand._

_Secondly, Draco Malfoy is a snoot-arsed show-off! And, I doubt that Professor Snape punished him at all since he's one of his Slytherins._

* * *

"**No worries, child, Draco will have a goodly number of cauldrons to wash at the end of this day," sighed Severus. _Why had not anyone told him of this incident?_**

* * *

_I'll explain, sir._

_When Madame Hooch was taking Neville to the infirmary a pretty bauble, round, like a glowing garnet, fell from his robes. Malfoy called it a Remembrall. I looked it up in Magical Artifacts for Children by Besom Charlus and he says that the Remembrall, usually round, contains a reminder from a child's parent. When the child touches, or squeezes the Remembrall, it will glow with a brighter colour to tell the child not to forget. The problem with remembralls is that they don't actually tell you what you shouldn't forget. They just remind you not to forget. Rather useless._

_The Remembrall arrived with Owl Mail this morning for him, but goodness knows what he was to remember!_

_So, the ball fell to the ground, and Malfoy snatched it up, mounted his broom, but not before shoving the Remembrall at Harry, and taunting him with it._

_I really wish Harry hadn't followed, but he was so very annoyed with Malfoy, and he just didn't think about the consequences – not that there were any, eventually. We watched as they both flew unbelievably fast through the air, chasing the Remembrall as Malfoy threw it. Ron thought it was fantastic and he was encouraging everyone in Gryffindor to cheer Harry on. I thought it was horrible! And then, Harry caught the Remembrall, but not before he very nearly hit the castle some distance away!_

* * *

A chime coming from the Edwardian Skeleton Clock upon the fireplace mantle interrupted his reading, and reminded Severus that he would be late for breakfast if he did not leave his quarters now. Secreting The Child's letter away with the others to be finished at the end of the day, the Potions Master slipped his teaching robes on, and left his dungeon abode. Nearly fifteen minutes later he was listening with incredulity while Minerva crowed about her new triumph.

"You allowed a first year on the Gryffindor Quidditch team," Snape hissed. Not only was he annoyed at the obvious advantage this would be for Gryffindor, who had lost the House Cup seven years in a row to Slytherin, but it was blatant favouritism for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Minerva smirked smugly, "Slytherin might just need extra practice time, Severus."

Severus ground his teeth lightly. _Maybe Mr. Malfoy would not merit a detention,_ he thought angrily.

"I saw a Pensieve of Minerva's memory, Severus," added Albus. "Harry is really quite good. Better, possibly, than James ever was."

Severus' lips thinned as he glanced over at the Gryffindor table; now understanding the unprecedented amount of congratulations the boy was receiving over his breakfast. "Potter is a first year student," the wizard asserted. "Headmaster, your own rules do not allow the first years to play, much less try out for placement on their House team due to the fact that they are simply too young to handle the responsibility!"

Albus shook his head, unwittingly dragging a portion of his beard across his over-easy eggs. "Harry is a healthy child, Severus. He's played Quidditch with his brothers so I'm sure he'll do fine on the team."

The younger wizard's gaze burned, but he kept his mouth closed as he ground his teeth together and stabbed his scrambled eggs with unnecessary viciousness. The Headmaster had completely missed his point. There was a reason first years were not allowed to play Quidditch and it was for the simple reason that they did not have the stamina to juggle classes, their burgeoning magic, and Quidditch. Disgusted, Severus intended to concentrate upon his breakfast when the Owl Post arrived.

Dozens of owls of all colours, and sizes flew in through the Enchanted Ceiling of the Great Hall to deliver The Daily Prophet, letters from home, and small care packages of biscuits or sweets.

The owl delivering The Daily Prophet quickly dropped a small newspaper to each of the teachers which expanded to full-size in the air. Professor Flitwick groused as his news knocked off his pointy cap. Minerva expertly caught her news. The Headmaster's over-easy eggs were a thing of the past as his newspaper obliterated the remains. Severus would have caught his newspaper, but he was distracted by a wobbly owl delivering something red, and ominous to the staff table. The Daily Prophet knocked against his shoulder, but he watched with interest as a rather exhausted owl landed in front of Minerva's plate landed with its wings akimbo out like a penitent, it sides heaving with exertion. Tied to the old owl's feet was a red envelope that pulsed with crimson menace.

"Someone sent you a Howler?" gasped Pomona Sprout.

"Open it quick, Minnie!" ordered Rolanda Hooch. "I don't want it bursting all over my breakfast!"

Severus smirked, and drawled teasingly, "What have you done now, _Minnie_?"

None of the teachers had noticed that a sudden silent sadness had dropped over the occupants of the Gryffindor table as Harry, and his brothers standing behind him, all read a letter from Arthur Weasley that had been delivered by Errol just before the owl had headed towards the staff table.

Minerva, clothed in her Deputy Headmistress mien, removed the letter from the tired owl, known by a certain family as Errol, and lifted the red menace with the intention of opening it. She, and the other teachers near her, with the exception of Severus who leaned slightly forward, pushed back against their chairs as the Howler darted out of the witch's hands, and furled open.

A voice that grabbed the attention of all in the Great Hall burst forth from the red menace, "MINERVA GWYNETH MCGONAGALL! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING PUTTING HARRY ON THE QUIDDITCH TEAM? HE'S JUST ELEVEN YEARS OLD, AND HE IS FAR TOO BUSY WITH HIS STUDIES, AND HIS SCHEDULE TO BE TAKING ON THE HARD-FLYING PRACTICES OLIVER WOOD FORCES THE TEAM THROUGH! DON'T YOU _DARE_ THINK TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS AGAIN WITHOUT FLOO'ING MYSELF AND ARTHUR! WE KNOW WHAT'S BEST FOR HARRY, AND WHAT'S BEST DOES NOT INCLUDE QUIDDITCH! HE CAN TRYOUT NEXT YEAR LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE!"

While Minerva blinked unsteadily, a somewhat nervous hand to her throat, the Howler turned suddenly towards Madame Hooch. Rolanda let out a small 'yeep' as it flew straight into her face, "AND WHY, MADAME HOOCH, DID YOU LEAVE AN ENTIRE CLASS OF WILLFUL FIRST YEARS ALONE? WITH THEIR BROOMS? TWENTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!"

The Howler burst into an awful parody of red confetti. Severus was having a very difficult time not bursting himself, into laughter.

In what seemed hours later, but was not that long at all, Harry's polite voice warbled up from the edge of the staff table. "Uhm, Professor McGonagall? Ma'am..?"

As all of the teachers recovered their composure, their eyes settled upon the subject of Minerva's Howler from Molly Weasley. With Harry was a brave appearing Hermione who gave him a nudge.

Harry did not speak again, but handed his letter from Arthur Weasley to his Head of House.

"Mr. Potter?" she asked in puzzlement. Minerva did not read the contents of Harry's letter.

"Go on, Harry!" hissed Hermione softly, with another nudge.

Harry blushed. "Well, uhm, Pops Arthur says I can't play Quidditch this year, but he also says in my letter that you have to take twenty points from Gryffindor for me not staying on the ground like I was s'posed to during class."

"Oh... dear! Twenty... more?... points from Gryffindor." Minerva was still rather rattled from the Howler. All heads turned as in the distance they could hear the distinct clinking sound of red gems dutifully subtracting themselves from the Gryffindor hourglass in the Entrance Hall where the four hourglasses of the Houses resided.

The silence was broken as a rare sound echoed throughout the Great Hall; Severus, unable to restrain himself any longer without bursting a blood vessel, laughed.

!*!*!*!*!

_**A/N: I do not know what House Rolanda Hooch is in so for the purposes of my story, she is in Gryffindor.**_

_**I am sorry, but Harry will NOT be playing Quidditch in his first year. I expect that if he'd had a guardian that parent figure would have put their foot down. Poor Minerva. It's too bad that it was Molly Weasley who put her foot down.**_


	12. I Am 12

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the gracious Kasan Soulblade. Here is the chapter, dear one, that you asked for._

_**September 19 – I am 12**_

Hermione was staring into the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. It was only just eight of the clock in the evening, and she knew she ought to be studying for the test in Potions tomorrow but she could not.

She was twelve today. No one seemed to know, or care. If her parents had been alive her mum would have taken her to that cafe with the French pastries she loved so much. Daddy would have a bar-b-que with chicken, and ears of corn, and real mashed potatoes. After that fine dinner mum would bring out the cake – red velvet. A very decadent cake that mum took the trouble to make herself.

Hermione smiled to herself. It would have been such a perfect day.

"Hermione?"

She tore her attention away from the flames and looked up at Neville. Hermione smiled. "Hi, Nev! Did you want to do some revising for the Potions test tomorrow?"

Neville stuttered as he was caught off guard by the unpleasant reminder of Potions. "Well, er, I probably ought to study, but... I... well, here!" Sitting down rather abruptly on the other end of the sofa Neville shoved a thin package clumsily wrapped in gold foil paper at the girl.

"What is this, Nev?" Hermione studied the narrow package, her fingers resisting the temptation to rip the paper off to see what was within.

"Well, it's your birthday, isn't?" he mumbled slightly. "I mean, you did mention a few days ago at breakfast that you'd be twelve soon. I thought you ought to have a gift for your birthday, so, happy birthday."

Genuinely touched, Hermione swiped at a tear that glistened at the corner of one eye. She then quickly gave her friend a one-armed hug. "Thank you, Nev! I'm sure it's lovely."

Taking a relieved breath, Neville nodded at the gift in his friend's hand. "Go on. Open it."

The box was from Scrivenshaft's so Hermione had somewhat of an idea what the gift might be. She was pleased when she took the lid off to reveal an ostentatious, yet very pretty, yellow-gold dyed, ostrich feather quill with a gold plate nib. It was something Hermione would never have chosen for herself, and she'd never use such a flamboyant quill in class, but she was very delighted with it.

"Thank you so much, Neville! I can't wait to write my next essay with it," Hermione smiled, and took out the quill to wield it like her wand.

Several minutes that soon became awkward as Hermione continued to look at the quill she had been given prompted Neville to say something. Instead, he was interrupted.

"Hey, Hermy! You're smart..."

"My name isn't Hermy!" she nearly shouted at the youngest Weasley redhead.

Ron gulped, and backed away as Harry snickered behind him. "Told you so, Ron."

"It's Hermione," corrected Neville. "She doesn't like nicknames."

Harry, his Charms textbook in his hand, got up from the floor to stand beside Ron. He looked earnestly at Hermione. "Is 'Mione bad, too?"

Hermione shook her head allowing her bushy hair to pouf outward like a cinnamon brown halo. She kept it braided during class, but she liked giving her hair its freedom. She tugged on one curl, twisting it around her finger. "It's okay, Harry, but I like my whole name. It's not that difficult to pronounce."

Harry shrugged. "Okay."

"Yeah, that's good. Hermione." Ron grinned and dropped on the sofa next to her. "You can help me and Harry with Charms, right?"

"I can, Ron." She glanced up at Harry, who then squeezed himself between Ron and Neville on the sofa. "Are you both ready for the test in Potions tomorrow?"

"That git just loves to give tests!" muttered Ron, his eyebrows gathered in a deep frown over his eyes.

"Ron!" Hermione was affronted by the boy's hateful resignation. "Professor Snape took Harry to get new glasses, and even paid for lunch for all of us."

"He let us go to Scrivenshaft's, too," Neville added.

"Uh-huh," nodded Ron, "and then he took five points from Harry for not paying attention where he was walking in the corridor, ten points from me for talking back, AND," yelled Ron, "gave us a detention with Filch for nothing at all!"

Hermione glared at Ron, then looked to Harry for him to say something positive. Especially with the beautiful glitter of his new, gold-framed glasses. Harry, not willing to meet the girl's accusing look, turned his attention to his hands in his lap. "Doesn't matter, 'Mione. He's the one who had to go and be a git. Filch is probably going to be right horrid to us."

The young witch sighed in resignation, and crossed her arms over her chest. She wanted to say something, anything, in the professor's defense, but he _was_ so awfully unfair.

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_It was my birthday today. I'm twelve now. I miss my parents terribly. Neville remembered me talking about my birthday and he bought me a very fancy quill. Ostrich feather. _

_I can't believe that Harry and Ron still hate Professor Snape! He had tea with us, and took us to Hogsmeade, and I'm sure he didn't have to do that._

* * *

"**Oh, yes I did," sighed the professor as he drank his tea and read The Child's letter. Severus was very conscious of not only the promise he had made to Lily to keep her child safe, but the promise he had made to Dumbledore to get the boy to trust him. Obviously in that he was failing.**

* * *

_Professor Snape took points from the boys today, and also gave them detention with Filch. They said it was for nothing, but I wonder if there was something more to their punishment. Ron's mouth just goes off on the slightest thing without thinking, and Harry, well, he's nearly as bad as Ron. I wonder if they got into so much trouble at home._

* * *

"**Running in the corridors like two jarveys without a care in the world is not 'nothing'," Severus snorted derisively. "Running in the corridors is against the rules, so I was well within my rights. Not to mention, it would have simply been five points from Gryffindor, but that Weasley boy had to fall into his habit of name calling and verbal abuse." He flipped to the next page in The Child's letter. She had purchased cotton woven stationary and so her letters no longer came in rolled up parchment with the ubiquitous logo of Madame Gingold's Home at the top. That blue and gold was an offense to the wizard's eyes.**

* * *

_My birthday. Do you think my parents are thinking of me?_

_I wish, now, that we had gone to church when I was younger. My parents were practical sorts and didn't believe in angels, or demons, or a god. It suited them, perhaps, but I wonder sometimes. Where are they? Are they just flitting about in some sort of afterlife? Are they in the ground where they were buried? What do witches and wizards believe?_

_Grammy once told me that the Earth was populated by spirits that treasured all that lived upon it. She would tell me this while she was gardening, or cutting up fresh vegetables from that garden. Grammy told me that we had to honour those spirits, and honour the Earth._

_Grammy has stopped writing to me. I still write but the director of the Senior Home sent me a letter saying that Grammy couldn't hold a pen anymore. And, she sleeps a lot._

_What if my Grammy leaves me, too?_

_Goodnight, sir,_

_Hermione_

_I am 12_

Late in the evening a figure in black floated almost as the ghosts do up from the dungeons. Professor Snape was making his rounds of the castle for the evening and was accompanied by the silent Bloody Baron, the ghost of Slytherin House. It was fortunate for the Bloody Baron that he drifted swiftly otherwise he would be hard pressed to catch up to the young wizard whose boots beat the flagstone floors of the corridors he traversed relentlessly.

At the end of his rounds Severus was faced with the portrait of the Fat Lady that guarded the entrance to Gryffindor tower. The Fat Lady was asleep. _No matte_r, thought Severus with a slight smirk. Teachers knew of hidden entrances to all the common rooms of the Houses. The one for Gryffindor lay five steps away from the Fat Lady's portrait and required that a sequence of the old stone be tapped with a wand, then the password whispered.

The Potions Master was soon within the common room of Gryffindor and could not help a reflexive wince at all the red and gold accoutrements that were reflected in the dying firelight of the flames from the large fireplace. He was about to unward the silly protection from the girls dorms that kept the boys out – _why were the boys dorms not ever similarly warded? _He wondered as he lifted his wand.

A small sigh stopped the professor, and he moved towards the almost quiet sound. There, upon the sofa in front of the dying embers, was The Child.

Hermione was asleep with her knees brought up to her chest. Someone had draped a patchwork quilt over her that reminded Severus of one he had seen Molly place in one of the Order of the Phoenix safe houses. Hermione sighed, and Severus leaned – loomed, actually – over her and then placed a small, square package by her head. There was no ribbon, no pretty wrapping paper. It was simply a square box that has been highly lacquered to a sheen of deepest black.

Once Severus was certain the small box would not fall off the sofa, he unshrank something from his pocket that proved to be a book. With a quick wave of his hand the book settled upon a small stack of textbooks on the floor. The bibliophile wizard noted that one book was open, and upside-down, its leaves spread open to the place where it had been when The Child had dropped it in her sleep. With a graceful flick of his hand the textbook was righted, and closed. Whispering, he admonished, "Treat your books with more care, Miss Granger. Three points from Gryffindor for neglect."

An ember crackled in the fireplace just as a whisper of robes signaled the departure of the Potions professor.

Hermione sighed, and slept on.

_A/N: I want to let everyone that has been reading and/or left me reviews that I so greatly appreciate them. I am terribly behind in answering my reviews and can only blame the emergence of life, holidays, and furry kids. I will answer them - even if it is past the chapter the review was written for. All you lift this Storyteller's soul. Thank you._


	13. Charming Charms

_**September 20 – Charming Charms**_

Harry munched on a piece of bacon as he turned his head to the side to read the spine of Hermione's latest book. In doing so he caught a glimpse of a flash at her wrist.

"A bracelet," Harry exclaimed as he straightened his head. "Who gave you a bracelet, 'Mione?"

Hermione stopped reading, and held up her wrist. It was a simple bracelet of silver looking links, and one charm that dangled from one of the links.

"It's a charm bracelet, Harry," she grinned. "I found it this morning when I woke up. I found this fascinating book, too, about Earth Spirits."

Percy, on the other side of his youngest brother, looked up from his own book. "Who gave you those, Hermione?" he asked with concern.

She shrugged. "I don't know. They were just there."

Ron glanced from his mound of scrambled eggs to the bracelet, and then the book.

"A wizarding charm bracelet is a magical artifact," informed Percy rather seriously. Hermione's smile faltered at the crease that had appeared down the middle of the older redhead's forehead. "Do you know what charm that is?" He pointed to the small dangling representation of a cat.

Hermione stared at the bracelet. "Wizarding? It's... uhm... it's just a cat, Percy."

Percy shook his head. Putting out his hand, and gesturing for the bracelet, she saw that he had his wand out in his other hand. "Let me see it, Hermione."

She hesitated, but at a nod from both Harry and Neville, Hermione took off the bracelet and handed it to Percy. The Gryffindor Prefect took the bracelet and examined it with a seriousness none of them had ever seen before.

"This is well made," Percy murmured. "Pewter. An excellent alloy for storing, and collecting magic." Ron stopped eating to finally listen to his brother. In his eyes, Percy was usually quoting rules or textbooks, and so he generally ignored him.

"Whatcha doin', Perce?" asked Ron as the older boy began to wave his wand, and incant some spell over the artifact.

Percy quickly explained, "It's a curse detection spell Bill showed me last holiday." Percy glanced over at the book Hermione still held. She was utterly fascinated, and a little worried. "I'd better check the book, too, Hermione."

By the time Hermione handed over her book most all of the Gryffindors had stilled their conversations and eating, to watch their Prefect.

"Well, no curses," Percy announced. There was a united breath of relief from everyone at the table.

"Wizarding charm bracelet, Perce?" asked Fred.

"Wonder what charm the cat is," added George.

Fred nudged his older brother. "Go on, Prefect, do some more magic."

Percy ignored Fred, and lowered his gaze to the inquisitive first year. Hermione breathed, and asked, "The cat's a charm? Like an amulet?" Percy, Ron, and the twins all nodded in the affirmative. "So it won't hurt me, right?"

"Not at all," affirmed Percy. "The charm's shape is usually an indication of the type of charm that it holds. If you had a familiar, I'd expect that since it's a kneazle, or a cat, it might have something to do with that."

"I don't have a familiar," Hermione stated the obvious.

Percy motioned for the young witch to hold out her arm, and he put the bracelet back on her wrist. "I don't know a spell for detecting specific charms on an amulet, Hermione. If I were you, I'd ask Professor McGonagall if she could help. Or, even Professor Flitwick."

"So, who gave you the presents, 'Hermione?" asked Ron as he took an overly large bite out of his toast.

Hermione collected her book back from Percy who seemed a bit reluctant to let it go. He was always intrigued by a new book. "I don't know. The bracelet and the book were just there when I woke up this morning."

"That reminds me, Hermione," Percy interjected before the same question could be asked once again. "I found you in the common room this morning. You really should sleep in your dorm. That's the second time I've found you on the sofa. Studying late, are you?"

In answer Hermione shot a covert glance at her two roommates, Parvati, and Lavender who had not stopped their chatter one moment since coming down to breakfast. "Mm, yes. Studying. Sorry about that, Percy."

Up at the staff table, amidst morning conversation, Severus had been surreptitiously watching the exchange at the Gryffindor table. He thought he had not been seen until the Headmaster spoke up.

"I believe Miss Granger had a rather nice birthday yesterday," he smiled.

Severus' lips thinned in annoyance. He was prepared to quip something sarcastic at his employer when he felt a burn upon the skin of his left forearm. His face did not betray him, and neither did he let out the gasp that would have heralded pain from his long quiescent Dark Mark.

Despite this, the Headmaster's twinkle vanished and he glanced worriedly at his Potions Master. Both were interrupted by Professor Quirrell who had just seated himself beside Severus.

"Sssssorry I'm l-l-late," he stammered. "Gr-gr-grading rather too late l-l-lasssssst night, and I'm afr-fr-fraid I ssssslept in."

Severus was now glaring darkly at the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Quirrell blinked, and slowed his movement of placing a napkin in his lap. "Ssssseverussss? Issss s-s-something the m-m-matter?"

"Not at all, Quirrell," muttered Severus as he stood a bit too abruptly from the table. The way the odd man chose to speak to him set his teeth on edge. "I have forgotten a letter that needs to be sent this morning." He turned away from Quirrell, and nodded to the Headmaster. "If you will excuse me, sir."

Without a further by-your-leave, Severus swept away to vanish through the narrow door behind the staff table.

!*!*!*!*!

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I know it's unusual for me to write when I just wrote yesterday, but so much goes on here at Hogwarts. I feel like I want to tell everything to you! I won't, though. You might actually write back and tell me to stop._

_I received two lovely gifts this morning. I expect they were for my birthday. One was a book called Spirits of the Earth: An Elemental Primer by B. Froud. It's amusing, but also very informative. Each page has the drawing of a spirit, or a fae sprite, and then a description, and if known, a name of the spirit. It's a beautifully rendered book with heavy parchment pages, colourful, windswept sketches that seem ready to fly off the pages, and hand-written script that almost appears like calligraphy._

_The second gift was a wizarding charm bracelet with a little charm of a cat on it. I thought it was simply a charm bracelet like Muggles have that are for collecting pretty, and meaningful charms. A wizarding charm bracelet is much more interesting! I looked them up in Magical Artifacts and Artichokes by Nessella Beam. The bracelet is to collect a variety of magical charms, either silly, or one-time spells, protection charms, and even poison detecting charms. They are forged from pewter because pewter is an alloy that is used to anchor magic. Nessella Beam intimated that pewter has some terrible uses in regards to binding magic, and Dark potions but she didn't elaborate. I did read that the early charms used to be flat discs of pewter, but when parents began using the charm bracelets for children it became fashionable to shape the discs into more whimsical designs. _

_I went to see Professor Flitwick and showed him the charm bracelet. He was very informative, and so excited over the potential of the bracelet that he tripped over his robes hem. The professor was able to show me a spell to reveal the nature of the charm. It's to help me find my familiar!_

_Brilliant!_

_Goodnight, sir,_

_Hermione_

_PS: Did you know that Hogwarts claims the Headmaster instead of the Headmaster laying a magical claim upon the castle. This way, if Hogwarts believes that a Head will be harmful to the children, the castle will do everything possible to eject the Head of Hogwarts. Egli Zando of Cardiff was appointed Headmaster in 1442 by the new Board of Governors. Egli pretended that the students mattered to him, but Hogwarts knew that Egli wanted to plumb the depths of Hogwarts for hidden treasure. I read in Hogwarts: A History that Egli Zando vanished three months after his appointment. It was rumoured that Hogwarts ate him!_

**!*!*!*!*!**

Lucius Malfoy sat in the dark of his study facing the long, narrow window that allowed him an unobstructed view of the grand front gate of forged iron that was the only break in the impenetrable, tall hedge that surrounded Malfoy Manor and its grounds. His left arm rested upon the surface of his large, mahogany desk, and not far from his fingers was an untouched tumbler of very expensive, and terribly old, Whitethorn Brandy. In his other hand, wrinkled, yet smoothed out, was a letter upon stationary of very thin parchment with a stylised crest of emerald that depicted a vicious snake curled around a skull. The letter, from the wreck that once was Riddle Manor reeked of Dark Magic; magic that had caused Lucius' Dark Mark to not only burn in response, but to crack, and then bleed.

Narcissa had seen the letter, clutched her abdomen, and ran to her room.

_Too much Dark Magic_, thought the Malfoy patriarch. He knew, without having to ask, that Narcissa would lose the baby. Before he had fallen into this... this state of ennui... he had the bare presence of mind to Floo call for the private Medi-Witch that had delivered Draco. Healer Orencia Smythe would take care of Narcissa. Lucius would see to his distraught wife later. He would be angry... later.

Crushing the letter once more in his fist, Lucius picked up the brandy, downed it swiftly, and then Summoned an elf.

There was a pop and a large-eyed, trembling elf, popped into the study.

"Dobby, tell Healer Smythe to remain here after taking care of Narcissa. I must leave, and I do not wish my wife to remain alone whilst I am gone."

With a barely stuttered, "Yes, Master," Dobby popped from the study.

Opening the frosted crystal door of a curio shelf Lucius reached in for a small statue of Merlin. He sneered at the figurine before whispering a spell in a language older than any known to wizard-kind.

The figurine vanished and was replaced by a spill of shimmery black silk that fell over Lucius' hand. At the cloth's center, a glint of silver nearly fell to the ground, but the wizard caught it. In another moment, the old garment, a robe of finely spun Acromantula Silk, had been draped over his shoulders. Pulling up the hood he was now surrounded by the shimmering concealment of night. Glancing distastefully at the mask, for that was what the silver had been, Lucius placed it over his face, spun upon the spot, and in a writhing plume of ashless smoke, he was gone from the Manor.

* * *

_**A/N: I thank you all for continuing to read this story. It fills my heart with warmth to know I am giving you something you enjoy. I am writing another romance at Tumblr that I am illustrating with wonderful artwork from DeviantArt. The premise is that Severus has been saddled with "custody" of a dying Lucius Malfoy who has been released from Azkaban. Severus needs help with Lucius, and asks for Hermione, working at Flourish and Blotts, to assist him. The story takes place two years after the Final Battle. If you wish to follow, just take out the spaces for the following URL – http: / severus-et-hermione . Tumblr . com/ The blog is called, I Love You, Miss Granger.**_


	14. A Strained Tea

_**September 21 – A Strained Tea**_

Summoned. Like a common house elf.

Fuming as he prepared to leave the castle the Potions Master nevertheless had dressed in his best. His robes were of black combed Irish wool that draped neatly over freshly pressed, creased trousers. The trousers had been topped, not by a frock coat, such as he preferred, but a short, open coat over a white shirt of silk with an embroidered velvet and quilted, black vest. His dress boots of highly polished Hebridean Black Dragon Leather rang ominously across the flagstones in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts as he pushed open one of the doors, and slipped outside.

The air was crisp, yet not cool. Autumn was coming, but today was clement, and slightly bland. Despite the lack of such a need, over all his layers Severus had donned a heavy cloak of wool with a deep cowled hood that hid his face as he Disapparated.

At his arrival to the front door of Malfoy Manor, the door was yanked open, not by a house elf, but by the master of the house himself, Lucius Malfoy. Severus was taken aback, but reserved his surprise by calmly removing the hood of his cloak.

"Severus! Come, come!" Lucius impatiently waved him into the foyer of the grand mansion, but not before looking over the younger wizard's shoulder, and obviously incanting a spell to detect whether or not his guest had been followed.

The Potions Master ignored the wiry house elf that took his cloak as he watched Lucius instead.

"Is it snowing?" Lucius frowned at the robes his friend wore.

"Did you invite me here for tea, or to discuss my wardrobe choices, Lucius?" sneered Severus.

"Tea," snapped Lucius. "My parlor, Severus. Narcissa has taken to the confines of her bedroom."

Lucius led the way to his parlor through a narrow hall that passed the wizard's study. Severus followed but his gaze was shrewd as he watched the old wizard. He knew of one tradition the patrician had not obeyed his father in and that was to have separate bedrooms for husband and wife after he was married. A thoroughly besotted newlywed, Lucius had kept Narcissa in his bedroom. Abraxas Malfoy had been rather too vocally displeased, and Severus recalled how the younger Malfoy had declared to a room of his Pureblood friends, "I happen to love my wife, and intend to show her so, every night!" Narcissa was properly none-too-pleased at the implication, at least in public as befitted a lady. Lucius boasted, only to Severus later, that it had been that night in which Draco had been conceived.

Severus had also known of only one other time Narcissa had been "confined" to a separate bedroom and that was during the last month she was pregnant with Draco. The pregnancy had not been an easy one for Narcissa and her Healer and Mid-wife had both ordered her to bed for the last month of her pregnancy. Lucius had wasted no time in hiring the youngest and most brilliant Potions Master in Europe to brew the needed potions for his gravid wife.

Severus was unaware of there having been a second pregnancy, but Lucius' use of the word 'confines' did make him suspicious. "A... difficulty... then, Lucius?" he asked.

Lucius waved his wand to erect several Privacy Spells over the parlor, and then shoved the letter from Riddle Manor at his old friend.

"A miscarriage. After she saw that," growled Lucius softly. "I would have had a daughter." Lucius turned sharply away towards the liquor cabinet, chose a vintage brandy, and poured two snifters as Severus read the short letter.

"Is he there?" Severus finally asked, looking up from the letter. He was worried, but masked that fear with stoic curiosity. He did not acknowledge the news of the miscarriage. Lucius would not take well to any misperceived false kindnesses.

Lucius handed the younger wizard the brandy snifter, his hand causing the dark amber of the liquor to tremor delicately. He then walked slowly over to the large picture window that looked out upon the garden built just for his prized white peacocks. "Ye... no... well, _some_thing is there. Not a man, not a child. Wizened, a dried out husk that was wheezing like the breeze rising over a dead field of corn." Lucius closed his eyes after taking a too generous swallow of his brandy. Severus noted that the older man's cheeks were florid, betraying the fact that he had been drinking for some time.

"It is a vile abortion, Severus, and it will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my days." Lucius visibly shuddered, and his spine, always perfectly, Pureblood straight, sagged under the weight of things that should never have been seen.

Severus slowly seated himself upon the edge of one chair of white pine upholstered in rich, brocaded emerald silk.

"He _is_ alive, then," whispered Severus.

Lucius turned. His grey gaze was hard, yet the younger wizard could see the barely restrained terror tripping in them. "Alive, but that is no life I would want, Severus. His body is destroyed, desiccated, and worsening each day yet something has anchored him to this earth." Lucius then moved with graceful purpose to a chair opposite the younger man. He leaned slightly forward. "Rudolphus LeStrange was there."

"That. Is. Impossible," deadpanned Severus as he lowered his tea. "He is in Azkaban with that wretched wife of his."

"Rudolophous tells me that he was given his freedom nearly a year ago by the Caretaker." Lucius lowered his voice to a whisper. "You recall him, don't you, Severus? That _thing_, called Janus Blessing, ought to have been dispatched the night the Potters were killed." The older wizard visibly shuddered.

Severus merely paled. He, too, recalled his time in Azkaban under the Caretaker, a frighteningly "kind" gaoler who adored the Dementors and treated them as a young wizard might treat a gamboling krup.

"What did the Dark Lord want of you, Lucius?" Severus finally broached the reason for him being summoned.

"My galleons, what else?" spat Lucius. Suddenly acquiring a distaste for the century old brandy, he put it upon a nearby table. "Whatever I thought I might have believed at Abraxas' feet, or as a misguided young man, I am not what I once was, Severus. Rudolphous mutters constantly to himself, and he chews upon the ends of his fingers with madness. And, that husk of what was once our master is more than just mad, it's evil. I cannot allow that to touch my family, yet I see no way out of it." With his right hand he gripped his left forearm fiercely. "I am bound to do so."

**!*!*!*!*!**

Later, that Saturday afternoon as Severus walked the grounds around the Black Lake with the Headmaster he finished his tale by declaring, "The Dark Lord has learned of the Philosopher's Stone, Albus. Originally he had intended to possess Harry Potter as his new vessel but not with the Stone upon these grounds. Potter has a price on his head, now."

"And you shall keep him safe, Severus. As for his agent looking for the Stone, we shall have him caught." Albus halted their walk by placing a spindly hand upon the other man's right forearm. He pointed towards an iron bench, and Severus escorted him over. Once the Headmaster was comfortable, Severus lowered himself to the ground not entirely unaware of his submissive position.

"Tell me of Miss Granger, Severus," sighed Albus as a gentle breeze danced across the surface of the lake and brushed the ends of his beard. "Minerva gives me class statistics, and the other teachers talk of her... excessive hand-waving in class, but you are more aware of her day-to-day thinking."

"The Child is well," sniffed Severus knowing the old man referred to the letters. He did not like talking about his ward. He preferred to see Miss Granger as a bushy-haired student who had nothing to do with The Child that wrote to Daddy Long-Legs. Diverting the subject away from the letters, he stated, "Draco came to me with a tale of her being pranked by a few of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor third years. I dismissed such an event until I came across her weeping over the remains of one her essays." Severus cocked his head slightly sideways. "Curious, but Peeves, it seems, was comforting her."

Albus' bushy eyebrows rose. "Our poltergeist? Comforting a student instead of plaguing her? Do you know more of this trouble, my boy?"

"Of the prank, no. Of the essay, yes. It is possible they were committed by the same persons." Severus began to relate, "It occurred on Wednesday. Miss Granger's bookbag had gone missing from the library where she had been studying before dinner. A series of taunting notes had led her to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom where the bag had been stuffed into one of the toilets."

Both wizards grimaced; one in pity, one in slow anger.

"My boy, how did you learn of this? Why was no one punished?" asked the Headmaster.

Severus did not reply. He could only reveal that before he had been able to offer aid, The Child had run away with her drowned essay. It had been through a letter, the ink smudged by tears, that he had learned the whole story. Hermione's bookbag, her textbooks, and all her notes, and essays she had been working on had suffered a thorough soaking. It was her best friend, the boy Longbottom, that had helped her to find simple cleaning and drying spells.

The books had survived, as the bookbag itself, but her precious notes, and schoolwork had been a loss. The Child had, unfortunately, not mentioned any possible culprits.

None of this did Severus mention for he never meant to speak of the contents of those letters.

Severus shook his head. He had folded himself in the manner he had done so as a child; his knees and thighs to his chest, and his arms circling his legs as he rested his angular chin upon his pointed knees.

"Lucius is afraid, Albus," changing the subject, he spoke softly to the soft, gold satin slippers the Headmaster affected no matter the colour of his robes.

"And where does his fear turn him, my boy?" asked Albus, his voice just as soft. Although there were students all around playing upon the verdant grounds of the castle, their place was bereft of laughter, the two men caught in a cocoon of their own making.

"Where it has always been, Albus," Severus replied with a narrowed, annoyed gaze.

"This is too important for supposition, Severus. We know those that remain free are simply followers who offer little danger, but Lucius could be formidable if Voldemort chooses him to sit at his right hand."

"He wants his family safe!" the younger wizard snapped. "Draco and Narcissa have always been his concern..."

The Headmaster interrupted, "Yet he was willing to lie for his own freedom then to pay for his crimes."

Severus head shot up to meet the steady regard of gentle cobalt. "He lied to save face, Albus, which is more than I can say for some of the other Death Eaters who simply cried 'Imperious' because Lucius thought of it first and they were trying to save their skins."

"Yet, you did not," smirked Albus.

"Lucius is not I," Severus replied wearily, lowering his chin to his knees again. The breeze had picked up and was tossing the generous hem of his robes around his body.

The Headmaster leaned forward to lay the palm of his hand upon the crown of lank, black hair. "Child, what is it you wish to ask of me?"

Severus did not look up, but he did lean just a fraction bit closer to the hand that lay warmly upon his head. "I hesitate to ask anything," he bit out tightly. The last time he had asked, no begged, it had been for Lily's life. Despite the best laid plans of mice and wizards, only the child, Potter, had lived.

Slim fingers touched his chin, and Severus reluctantly raised his head from his knees. He sighed. Albus spoke, regret in his voice, "Had it been my will, Severus, I would not have let James and Lily trust any of their friends. But, their trust was absolute..."

"And it cost Lily her life!" snapped Snape as his throat constricted with old grief. He jerked his head to the side.

"Yes. So it did. That does not mean that I would refuse you anything in my power to give, Severus." He caught the younger man's chin again and leveled his questing gaze to the dark, glimmering eyes of his Potions Master. "Will you, for once, ask a boon of me?"

Severus snorted softly. "A boon? You are not some magnanimous god, Albus."

The Headmaster chuckled. "That I am not!"

"Fine." Severus pursed his lips then rose to his feet so he could pace before the older wizard. "I realise that Lucius is not the... best of people, but truly his crimes during the First Rise were not the atrocities committed by Bellatrix, the LeStranges, and many of those that now reside in Azkaban. It is a pity that Abraxas was taken by the pox and was never brought before the Wizengamot for his crimes towards Muggles, and towards that of his own son." Severus paused briefly in his pacing and stroked his chin as he frowned darkly. "Lucius _does_ have regard for his family, Albus. Despite the rumours that were rife during the Death Eater trials of an _unnatural appetite_..."

Severus sneered at the memory of those rumours that had been repeated in the Daily Prophet. Revels that were orgiastic debacles of deviant sexual appetites and violence. Many of the Wizengamot had actually appeared disappointed when Lucius' testimony revealed that there had been no such revels; just an organisation of a Dark Wizard doing his best to take over the Wizarding world through charm, well-placed bribes, and key followers in places of power.

"From the moment the Dark Lord learned of the Prophecy, and marked the Potters for destruction, an irrational... fear gripped the Dark Wizard. No one, not even his chosen elite were free from vindictive punishment at his wand. Our... Mark became a way to control, to subjugate, to cruelly play when he was bored." Severus shook his head. "This time it will be worse, Albus. Those revels that were so luridly concocted for The Daily Prophet will know life when the Dark Lord regains his strength. Lucius saw this in the creature that Rudolphus tends, and this thing would destroy the Malfoys simply for entertainment."

Albus regarded the younger man whose pacing had stilled and now looked down upon him. Severus had not voiced his request, but the plea for the man that had been a friend to him from his first days at Hogwarts, was there in the depths of his dark eyes.

Decision made, Albus rose to his feet, and tucked an arm around Severus' upper arm as though he needed the younger man's support. Falling easily into his part, the young professor began to escort the older man away from the lake towards the castle. Although curiosity burned within Severus as to what Albus had decided, he did not broach their simple quiet, and schooled his patience. The Headmaster would say something to him, hopefully soon.

In the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts Severus scowled at a group of Hufflepuffs that ran through the door just behind them, and nearly ran down the Headmaster. He was all prepared to take points, but Albus' genial, and indulgent smile stopped him from doing so.

The students forgotten, Severus looked on with sinking heart as the Headmaster disengaged his grip, and turned towards the Founders tower where his office, and quarters were. Lips thinning he made to turn away to the dungeons when the voice of Albus stopped him.

"Severus, bring Mr. Malfoy to tea next weekend would you? We have some business to discuss."

Severus nodded sharply. He could not find his voice to acknowledge the older man, but his simple gesture had appeared sufficient for the Headmaster. Albus smiled and ascended the stairs.

**!*!*!*!*!**

**Sunday Evening**

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_Harry told me the most curious story on Friday after classes. He and Ron had gone wandering... sorry, they had gotten lost... on their second day of classes. Harry says that there is a terrible, three-headed dog up on the third floor corridor we were warned to stay away from. Ron wanted to go see the dog again, but Harry said it was huge, and very scary._

_I was curious, though, so Harry, and finally Ron, took me up to the corridor this afternoon, and we all saw the dog. It's a Cerberus..._

* * *

"**You stupid girl!" barked Severus out loud upending his teacup and splashing its hot contents partially onto his thigh, but mostly to the floor. He yelped at the pain of the hot tea, but more out of being caught off guard.**

**Severus threw down the letter onto his vacated chair, and Scourgified the mess on his floor with a particularly vicious swipe of his wand, and then a little more carefully to his trousers. He then cast another spell to repair the broken cup, and he sent it to his small kitchen. A final spell soothed the heat of the spilled tea to his thigh. He then turned, and faced the offending letter.**

"**Curious Gryffindors! You were told to stay away from that corridor on 'pain of death'!" Severus continued to abrade the letter angrily. "DEATH you idiots! How am I to keep you alive if you follow your senseless curiosity into such situations? Am I to be plagued with this sort of nonsense the entire year?"**

**Picking up the letter, Severus shook it disgustedly, then slumped into the chair. His own curiosity had to know how the Trying Trio had made it out alive.**

* * *

… _I suppose because it is so huge that the Cerberus was too slow to come after us. Maybe all of its heads have to have a shared, single thought before deciding to go after something? Inconvenient, I'd have to say._

_I think what was worse was when I told Neville about what we did and he was so very upset with us. Both Harry and Ron tried to assure Nev that there was no threat to House points, but he didn't care about House points. Nev was more worried about us. I feel bad about this, sir, but if I say anything to one of the professors I'll get more than myself in trouble._

* * *

"**As you should," sneered Severus. "I expect you will not be at all surprised to discover a _sixty_ point loss from Gryffindor in the morning for playing so recklessly with your lives! As for Mr. Longbottom..." Severus sighed a bit melodramatically, "Maybe you ought to consult with him before your next stupidity? It appears he has more sense than all three of you combined."**

**Incensed as he was Severus had no intention of finishing The Child's letter but as he was folding the more elegant stationary she now used in place of the thicker parchment, he caught something of interest. Seating himself once more in his chair he smoothed the letter out from habit, and skipped the final end of the adventure with the Cerberus to the name that had caught his attention.**

* * *

_...I saw Draco. I know I'm supposed to just call him Malfoy like all the other Gryffindors do, but I'm not sure why. Of course he's a prat, but he isn't at all evil like anyone says. He's a bully, but only in Potions. Mostly dirty looks, and I'm sure he threw something into Neville's cauldron on Friday, but since Professor Snape didn't see Draco do anything, Neville got detention for melting his cauldron. _

_I was studying down at the lake this afternoon because Ron and Harry wouldn't leave me alone and they keep telling me I spend too much time in the library. Neville was still a bit mad at us, mostly at me. He called me a "curious clot", and then told me to go away. So, we went down to the lake, and the boys just took off as soon as we got there. I_ _decided to study until I needed to stretch._

_It was rather cool today, but not so much that I needed my heavy jumper. It was nice. It was nice for a walk, too._

_I was halfway around the lake when I heard crying. It was so very sad, and frustrated. I followed the weeping to this small gathering of boulders on the furthest side of the lake away from Hogwarts. It was Draco._

_I don't know why he was upset, and I know I should have done more, but he's been so nasty towards the Gryffindors. Worse towards me, for some reason. Maybe it's the same reason many of the girls at the Home don't like me. _

_Mudblood. When he called me a 'filthy Mudblood' at the lake after discovering I'd seen him, I didn't know what it meant. Now, I do._

* * *

**Severus glowered. He was incensed at Draco's use of the epithet he had forbidden to all of his Snakes, but he was concerned, too. What could Draco have been crying about? Not Narcissa's miscarriage, surely. Severus doubted the boy had even known his mother was pregnant. That, and the miscarriage had only been precipitated the night before. The wizard shook his head wondering if it might be lingering homesickness. **

**That first night of term the young Malfoy boy had triggered an alarm on the first years dorms to his distress at being away from his parents the first night he had been at Hogwarts. A simply remedy of hot cocoa laced with a mild Calming Potion, and gentle assurance had Draco back in bed, and asleep within a half an hour.**

**Crying in seclusion at the lake, though? Hidden, and away from his Head of House's spells and wards that aided Severus in keeping an eye upon his Snakes.**

* * *

… _Well, Draco just shoved past me. He was mad, but I'm sure he wasn't mad at me. There was parchment crushed in his hand. _

_My walk was nearly finished so I went back to my books, and I could have sworn I saw Professor Snape sitting on the ground talking to Headmaster Dumbledore. I blinked, though, and they were gone._

_How odd._

_Goodnight, Daddy Long-Legs,_

_Hermione_

**!*!*!*!*!**

_**September 23, Monday Morning, the Deputy Headmistress's office**_

Minerva sipped her early morning tisane, an herbal tea that helped her to greet her mornings, and the influx of Owl Mail that always arrived on Mondays. Her eye was caught by an officious looking missive from a _Candlemas, Attorney_.

Picking up the letter she broke the wax seal, and read the contents.

_To: Deputy Headmistress, and Head of Gryffindor M. McGonagall_

_From: Llewellyn Candlemas, solicitor for the estate of Granger, deceased Muggles, and Hermione Jean Granger, sole inheritor._

_Subject: Elanor Damson Granger, deceased_

_Madame McGonagall,_

_I have been informed that you are acting In Loco Parentis for Miss Hermione Jean Granger during her school term. Please inform the young lady that Madame Elanor Damson Granger, late of Belby's Senior Home in Wales, passed away from old age on Friday, September 20, 1991. Madame Granger was 102. A respectable age for a Muggle, I am told._

_There was, unfortunately, no estate to pass down to the granddaughter, and there were, in fact, several past due bills due the senior home, and a variety of medical professionals. On behalf of Miss Hermione Jean Granger these expenses have been dealt with by withdrawing the amounts from the Granger estate. Bone-Club of Gringotts has included with this letter an adjustment to the young lady's account._

_If Miss Hermione Jean Granger wishes to attend her grandmother's funeral on Wednesday of September 25th she may do so with an escort of the Headmaster's choosing, and one friend, if desired, for moral support._

_Please inform me of the girl's decision by five o' clock this evening._

_Respectfully,_

_L. Candlemas_

* * *

**A/N: I am sorry I have taken so long to update but due to other projects that I had agreed to prior to this one, and real life foibles, I had to do some hard thinking about where the story was going, my plans for it, etc. After much consideration this will NOT become an eventual HG/SS romance. Before anyone feels they are being cheated, have no fear. I will be posting a WIP of a much better HG/SS that I am writing with another. She is helping me to write a more balanced, and grown-up romance. Daddy Long-Legs will continue through this first year, but very big changes are on the horizon for Hermione and Severus. I hate to reveal anything, but I feel I must to keep your attention. There WILL be an adoption. **

**IF anyone no longer wishes to read the story because its intent is changing, that is all right. I will not be offended.**


	15. Chapter 15  Elanor Damson

_**September 25 – Wednesday**_

Neville tugged at his bow-tie as he gave the ex-Auror Alastor Moody a sideways glance. Moody was speaking quietly to the Headmaster as they all waited in the Entrance Hall. "He looks awfully fierce, Hermione," he whispered.

"It's all just old scars, Nev," she whispered back, and turned to loosen Neville's tie. "Mr. Moody is a very nice person."

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE, Albus!" roared the ex-Auror sternly, his voice echoing in the cavernous entry.

Neville jumped nervously, and let out a squeak. Even Hermione flinched a bit, but then she smiled at her friend. "And, he can be very loud." Gently she patted her friend's arm.

Moody stumped towards the two children. He caught Neville eyeing his false leg with something akin to worry. Moody stopped, leaned over and thumped the sturdy piece of carved wood with his fist.

"Rogue dragon rider. Trussed up the bloody bast... I mean, dastardly wizard, but then he went an' sent his bloody dragon after us. Burnt ol' Kinnewaw to a crisp, an' took part of me leg. Forty-two, I was!" he chuckled.

Far from thrilling Neville, he appeared a bit green at the story. If Hermione had not smiled at the boy at that moment, he might have fainted dead away.

Professor Dumbledore walked over and smiled sadly down at Hermione. He took both of her hands in his. "My dear girl," he sighed. "I am terribly sorry to have heard of your loss."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione nearly whispered. The reminder of why she was leaving school early, on a Wednesday, came back full force, and nearly took the breath from her lungs. Neville quickly grasped Hermione's hand in his and squeezed his reassurance.

"'Mione!" Hermione spun to see Harry and Ron come thumping breathlessly down the stairs. "You haven't left yet!"

Before Hermione could take a breath, Harry had Hermione in his arms and was hugging her so enthusiastically she could not quite breathe. After a few half-hearted pats on his back, Harry finally let her go. Holding her by her upper arms, he looked into her eyes.

"I know I can't go with you today, 'Mione, but you know I'll be here for you. Right?" Harry's earnest worry impelled Hermione to draw her friend into her own hug.

"I'm glad, Harry," she whispered in his ear, and then impulsively bussed his cheek briefly. Astounded by what she'd done, Hermione pulled away, and grabbed Neville's hand.

Harry touched his cheek, and could do nothing about the goofy smile that suddenly spread across his face.

"Mr. Potter," drawled a disapproving voice above Harry. "You are out of class."

Harry spun so rapidly he nearly tumbled backwards. It was the Headmaster who caught the startled boy. Moody snarled, making his scarred visage grow decidedly feral. The Headmaster saved one and all with a judicious twinkling of his blue eyes, first aimed chidingly at Severus, and then with calm at Moody.

"Severus, so good to see you. Harry was just taking a moment to see Miss Granger off to her grandmother's funeral. I'm sure you wouldn't wish to dock points for that."

Severus grimaced at Harry, but then suddenly focused his attention on Hermione. "Child... my condolences."

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Hermione acknowledged quietly, surprised at the odd address.

Suddenly straighter, and the brief compassion faded, it was the teacher who flatly reminded, "You have an essay due tomorrow, Miss Granger," Severus did not acknowledge Harry's sudden scowl, nor Moody's disapproving grunt. "Do you require a day's grace during your mourning to finish it?"

Hermione knew that Harry, Mr. Moody, and even Neville were annoyed by such a question, but she couldn't explain how studying, and working on her homework had been a solace for her. It always was, in a way. She quickly shook her head, but then forced herself to reply. "Thank you, Sir, but no. My essay is finished. I'll have it tomorrow for you."

"Very good, Miss Granger." Without another word, Severus turned abruptly away, vanishing back towards his dungeons.

Harry, still incensed over what he had perceived as callousness on the part of his Potions professor, was about to grumble something unflattering, when he was interrupted by Moody grinding out, "Soggy old bat!"

"Alastor!" scolded Albus. Harry tried to stifle a snicker, but it only came out as a snort. Hermione glowered, grabbed Neville's hand, and stalked out of the castle.

* * *

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_I went to my Grammy Granger's funeral today. Instead of telling you about the service, would you mind terribly if I just told you about my Grammy?_

* * *

**Severus had received the missive from The Child just after dinner that Wednesday evening. He was in his classroom overseeing the detention of the Weasley twins who had their heads determinedly bent over a sink full of dirty cauldrons. Leaning over the essays he had brought to grade, the Potions Master continued to read.**

* * *

… _Grammy Granger was Elanor Damson. She had my mess of hair, but I always thought it looked like the halo of an Earthen goddess. Grammy never restrained her hair. She liked wearing daisy chain crowns, or small, purple flowers in her hair. Daddy had a photograph of Grammy when she was young, and daddy was just beginning to walk. Grammy's hair was below her shoulders with flowers in her hair as though someone had dropped the blossoms over her. She wore one of the home-spun cotton dresses she always loved. And, dancing with daddy._

_I remember visiting Grammy at Belby's, the senior home where she was moved to a year ago, and they'd cut her hair, and put her in a terrible gown of stiff..._

* * *

**Severus grunted in annoyance, and then glared at the twin boys who had noticed. With a glare from their professor that promised dark and terrible things, they turned quickly back to their task. Severus made a mental note to suggest to Filius that his class of first years be taught the basic spells of dealing with mistakes in homework. It made his stomach clench uneasily when he saw evidence of The Child's unhappiness splattered on her letters, smudging the ink.**

* * *

… _oh dear! I've messed that paragraph up. I need to research a spell to clean mistakes in letters. You must hate seeing this mess. I'm sorry, sir._

_My first memory of my Grammy is very much like my last – before she went to Belby's, that is. Grammy loved her gardens, and her house always smelled so wonderful. Sage and vetiver, coriander and basil. There was always something hanging from the ceilings drying in bunches. And roses! Grammy used to make cosmetics scented with roses. I miss her Texas Rose Shampoo! I always thought it made me smell like spring. For mum, Grammy made a pretty floral perfume of lavender and rose. Daddy would wear a wonderful cologne of sandalwood, olive, and bayberry spiced with her black Damask rose oil._

_I wonder what happened to Grammy's recipe book. Daddy said that he couldn't find it after Grammy was taken to the senior home. I think Professor Snape would have been impressed by what my Grammy could make._

_I've been reading about the differences in Muggle and Wizarding afterlife, and I think Grammy would have liked the Wizarding one better. It's gentle, somehow, to step beyond a Veil between the two worlds that separate the living and the dead, and instead of hoping for Heaven, or worrying about Hell, you create your own world; a world of your own happiness._

_I still don't understand ghosts in the Wizarding world, though. Nearly Headless Nick tells us stories about balls, and Death day parties, and the Headless Hunt, but it all seems rather endlessly hopeless. Sad, I suppose. I did try to ask Sir Nicholas why he was a ghost, and he told me that his existence on Earth was not complete. According to him, he's been dead nearly three centuries! What else would there be to complete? I wouldn't suggest asking Sir Nicholas because when I did he just couldn't seem to remember._

_Well, I hope my Grammy is happy wherever she is._

_Goodnight, sir,_

_Hermione_

* * *

"Weasleys! Get out!" Severus ordered tersely as he folded The Child's letter closed, deciding to prematurely end the detention. He had had enough of those two for the day.

With a muttered 'thanks' from George, and a 'g'night' from Fred, they practically ran from the classroom. Both were grateful for being let go early, and neither wanted to chance annoying the professor for some other odd reason that would cause him to either keep them, or assign them further detention.

Pushing aside the essays he had paid little attention to, Severus decided to do rounds. He left his classroom properly warded shut so that no curious looky-loos could get into it, and make a mess, and then he charmed his boots with a Silencing Spell, and used a Shadow Glamour to aid him in blending in with the flickering shadows of the corridors. Suitably disguised from those students who were determined to wander after curfew, Severus went on his rounds.

As the wizard swept through the corridors like a dark breeze, he too, began to think of the ghosts in Hogwarts. He had wondered about them when he had been a student, and had even become fascinated with the gory, yet silent ghost of Slytherin, the Bloody Baron.

As Severus had grown, it was the Baron who often discovered the young boy in his hiding places in the dungeons when he wanted to avoid the Marauders. Eventually the Baron showed the young Snake many of the secrets of the dungeons. Secrets such as the library of the Grey Books; books that revealed magic of ancient mysteries thought lost centuries past. Severus could not claim to be able to read them all since they were protected either by spells he had yet to fathom, or languages he never had heard of, and Translation Spells were for naught. Each secret was a tantalising thread the Baron had offered; not all solved, but of smug comfort nonetheless.

Gliding through the castle Severus found himself facing the quivering Quirrell who was startled when the Potions Master lowered his glamour, and emerged from the shadows.

"Is everything all right, Professor?" asked Severus as he glanced smoothly toward where Quirrell had come. It was the entrance to the third floor corridor.

"C-c-can't ssssssleeep, Sssseverussss." Quirrell's voice stuttered but it seemed to oddly echo the sibilant murmur of another. It made Severus' blood run cold.

"Go to bed," he began, but then he hissed as the Dark Mark on his left forearm seemed to twitch angrily. Only for a moment did a brief flicker of fear cross his features. Despite his iron will reasserting itself to school his features into their stone-like mien, Quirrell caught the look, and his gaze narrowed quizzically.

Without any further word to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Severus spun away feeling that fear and desperation that had plagued him so often when the Marauders were hot on the heels of the Slytherin boy. Down into the depths of the dungeon he vanished, so very like the bat he was often derided as.


	16. Fear of Heights

_**September 26th – Fear of Heights**_

Hermione was at breakfast sharing her open Transfiguration text with Harry on one side, and Neville on the other. Ron was across from the three with Dean, and Seamus, as they discussed the various Quidditch teams each boy favoured.

"Pins into buttons," groused Harry. "Why've they gotta go and complicate it all with theory." He gave the page that was opened to a drawing of a pin turning smoothly into a button with a dark glower.

"If it were simply just turning a pin into a button you'd have done it by now, Harry," clarified Hermione.

"_You_ haven't done it," Harry amended stubbornly.

And, she hadn't. Hermione was having as difficult a time in Transfiguration as Neville and Harry were. None of the first years had succeeded with their first assignment. Hermione had tried to get everyone interested in a study group after classes, but Dean, Seamus, and Ron would have none of it. Parvati and Lavender were too embroiled in their Witch Weekly and Cosmetique Glamourie to even think about any classes.

It added frustration to the class, and in trying to turn a stupid pin into dratted button!

Hermione did understand the theory behind Transfiguration. She understood that it was a conditioning of one's mental processes, and visual perceptions into not only _expecting_ the pin to become a button, but to _visualise_ how the pin would look during the transformation, and its eventual outcome. It was not a simple 'flick and swish' of one's wand. It was a focusing of one's magic.

Getting all of those elements to work while trying to focus one's magic when it was sometimes as lazy as Hagrid's boarhound Fang was the impediment. First years often became frustrated with the ease in which older students, and their teachers wielded magic, not realising that a great deal of doing so had to deal with FOCUS – the controlling of one's magic to direct it into doing what you wanted it to do. Thus, in Transfiguration there was more theory to deal with than actual magic. It made for a difficult class, and often grumpy students.

"No, I haven't, Harry," agreed Hermione. "It's just going to take a lot of practice, but we can do it."

Neville smiled at Hermione's enthusiasm, but Harry just grumbled under his breath and stabbed his porridge with his spoon.

"Mail!" smiled Neville as he and nearly every student in the Great Hall looked upward at the sound of owl wings and hooting.

Hermione closed the textbook. "I really ought to subscribe to the Daily Prophet," she said as one owl dropped the news down in front of Percy Weasley.

_Dear Daddy Long-Legs,_

_Brooms-Flying class was today. I was really hoping you might get me out of the class, but it's all right that you didn't. Mr. Moody was at class today, and it was ever so much better. I don't think that Madame Hooch was terribly happy with his presence, though..._

* * *

Neville and Draco were passing out the school brooms to everyone during Brooms Flying class when a shout from Madame Hooch stopped them. The first years all clustered together according to their Houses, and watched as a patchwork of a man with a wooden leg, a terrible scar across his face, and a spinning eye clomped towards the class.

"Oi! You're not supposed to be here during class, Moody!" fumed Madame Hooch.

"Don't get yer knickers in a twist, witch!" he scoffed. "I'm not here ta disrupt yer teachin'."

"Then go bother the Headmaster!" she sniffed.

"I don't think they like each other," whispered Lavender Brown to Ron Weasley. Ron smirked as they all watched Madame Hooch stomp over to the ex-Auror, and suddenly push him rather sharply in the chest. Moody's body didn't move an inch which only seemed to anger Hooch more.

Harry chuckled, his green eyes sparkling with mirth as he heard Mad-Eye gruffly reply to the push with, "Dint know ye liked me like that Rolanda. Can't spare tha time for ye though," and he held a broom he had un-shrunk in her face. Madame Hooch nearly pinwheeled backwards in avoidance of the broom being waved at her. He then clomped past the professor. "Granger! Got somethin' fer yeh!" He waved her over.

Harry's lips thinned. A flash of jealousy drifted through him as he watched Hermione run over to the man he still thought of as _his_ rescuer from the Dursleys.

Ron nudged Harry's arm to get his attention. "C'mon, Mate. Time to fly!"

Flying was like breathing to Harry so with a shrug of his shoulders he allowed Ron to distract him.

Hermione half-jogged over to Moody giving the broom he carried a rather suspicious glance. "Is anything the matter, Mr. Moody?" she asked as she gave him a hug with her arms around his waist. He patted her back.

"Not a thing's tha matter, Lass. I hear tell that yer havin' a bit of trouble in this class. Don't like heights, an' all."

Hermione shook her head then whispered conspiratorially, "Can I leave this class?" she gave the broom Moody still held a suspicious look.

Moody shook his head, jostling a strand of his unkempt hair over his false eye. He dislodged it with a jerk of his head. "Sorry, Lass. Every witch an' wizards gotta learn. It's part of what yeh are. So, thought I'd help a bit and get yeh this to practice on 'stead of them whisker beaters the school calls brooms." Moody held out the broom towards the girl.

Again, Hermione blinked warily at the broom. It was new. The handle was nicely polished, possibly of pine since it was nearly white, and the bristles were a sleek, trimmed brown, and sort of glistened.

"This is an Athena 500," Moody sounded rather proud. "Tis a ladies Travelin' Broom. It's not meant for racing heights, or Quidditch speeds, but it can get up to a nice clip. Built in are Cushioning Charms for minor falls, an additional Cushioning Charm to ease long distance flyin', Weather and Insect Repellin' charms, and an automatic Disillusioning Charm to keep Muggles from seein' yeh as yeh travel." Moody nodded satisfactorily.

Hermione thought the broom was brilliant, but she was worried about something else. "I really can't afford that, can I, Mr. Moody?"

"Well, yer goblin-whatsisGabbledymack probably would be too stingy with the funds, so since I missed yer twelfth, thought mebbe it could be a present." He handed her the broom, and then shook a stubby finger at her. "Mind tha rules now, Lass. Firs' years aren't s'posed ta have brooms, but me'n Albus..." he twined his his first two fingers together. "We got us an understandin'."

Moody did not mention that he had spent two hours haranguing his "old friend" into allowing the broom, and in those two hours he had consumed one too many sherbet lemons. He had need of the toothbrush Hermione had sent him for his birthday.

* * *

_...Mr. Moody told me I have to get over my fear of heights because flying is just one way wizards have of traveling. He said they each have their advantages, and disadvantages._

_After classes today Harry and Ron took my broom to show to everyone in Gryffindor. For awhile it was rather neat to have everyone exclaim over it but then an older student, a Quidditch player, of course, got all nasty about how it was a "girly" broom._

_Good night, Daddy Long Legs,_

_Hermione_

* * *

Severus held the letter aloft and glared at the spattering of tears that smudged the brief signature. Had not Draco told him that others in The Child's own House had been teasing her? He glowered as that annoying clench in his heart that had been appearing too regularly made his breath hitch in indignation.

Gryffindors did not pick on their own. Was the girl such an annoying, little swot that even her own House found her insufferable? In his own class her eagerness became something to ignore. He had noted that his actions had caused the girl to at least encourage Neville Longbottom, and even the Boy-Who-Lived, to raise their hands. Longbottom stuttered, but then Severus recalled that Alice Longbottom had a stutter that was so bad it often rendered her speechless. The Potions Master was confidant the boy would grow out of that speech impediment. Severus had noted some slight improvement to Longbottom's approach to the Potions class that made him less inclined to shout at the boy. That, and for this week he had not exploded, or melted a cauldron, but had only singed his eyebrows after turning the flame too high.

Putting the letter away with the others, he decided he needed a few answers. Going to the fireplace, he grabbed a handful of glittering black Floo Powder and tossed it into the flames. With a flicker and a tell-tale whoosh they changed to green. Bending at the waist, he called into the flames.

"Minerva McGonagall's Quarters!" As he waited for the call to go through, he knelt on the hearth, and stuck his head into the flames. "Minerva? Are you at home?"

Minerva McGonagall _was_ at home in her quarters and bade her colleague to come through. As usual the heavy red and gold décor that permeated Gryffindor House, Minerva's office, and her quarters was an offence to his senses. Like Albus, the Scotswoman was an avid collector, not of clocks and such, but of porcelain figurines. Many were gifts from past students. Going in to Minerva's sitting room reminded Severus of a glassworks shop his mother had taken him to in London, once. His mother had held onto one hand while he had to stick the other hand into his pocket. It had been a sight to behold, but it was also unpleasant for he had been very conscious of the possibility of breaking something. It was difficult not to shove his hands into his pockets for worry of breaking anything in Minerva's rooms.

The Potions Master had interrupted her settling with her evening tea that more than likely was laced with a touch of her favourite Muggle whiskey.

"Tea, Severus?" she offered with a knowing smile.

The younger wizard did not hesitate; he was partial to Minerva's tea and a cup of it would ease his sleep this night better than a sleeping potion would.

Once the tea had been poured and he was settled as much as he might get on a crimson divan, Minerva asked, "What is it you wished to talk to me about, Severus?"

"Rumours about one of your lions, Minerva," he sipped at the tea, and was pleased to note the pleasant sting of whiskey.

"What rumours?" she asked quietly, her ears perked to listen carefully to anything about her Gryffindors.

"I have overheard a couple of students from other Houses gossiping about mistreatment they have supposedly witnessed between your first year, Miss Granger, and some of the older Gryffindors." He eyed the older witch carefully across the rim of his cup. Minerva was very protective of her lions, and did not take kindly to perceived slights.

"Miss Granger is not fitting into Gryffindor as quickly as others in her year have already done so," Minerva mentioned a little regretfully.

"And what, might I ask, are you doing to remedy that?" Severus asked suspiciously.

Minerva lowered her teacup to the saucer smoothly, and gave the younger wizard a look of effrontery at his assumption that she was not doing her job. "There is _nothing_ that _I_ need to do, Severus. This situation with Miss Granger is perfectly normal. Not all first years are immediately accepted within their House. It will just take time, and patience."

Severus' lips thinned. It had annoyed him, ever since he himself was a student, that Minerva held such a laid back attitude with her Gryffindors. As if they were best left to their own devices; he ground his teeth at the thought. Just like the Marauders – Potter, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Black – had been allowed to run wild the length of the castle. He knew that he had been their main target, yet he was surprised to later learn, after he had become a teacher, that the Marauders, primarily Sirius Black, had bullied students from other Houses, including Gryffindor. Those of Black's victims that he had been able to trace through disciplinary records here at Hogwarts had all been younger than Black himself was.

Finishing his tea, he left Minerva's quarters to return to his own. Normally he would have dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown and settled down with one of his Potions peridocals for the evening, but he had to take care of one last piece of business. Walking over to the desk he kept in his sitting room, he sat before it, pulled out a crisp sheet of linen, his best quill, and the bottle of green ink he used for correspondence. Putting quill to paper, he began to write.

_Dear Hermione,_

* * *

_**A/N: I know. After all this time I leave you with a cliff hanger. Beat me verbally if you wish. I have been reading your reviews but my eyesight is bothering me terribly again and congestion, of all things, sent me to the ER. It has been a heckuva a Leap month. I shall try to get another chapter up as soon as I can so forgive me if I do not reply to reviews. I love you all.**_

_**etherian**_


	17. The Letter

_Dear Hermione..._

_Dear Child..._

_Dear Miss Granger..._

Severus was pacing, and grinding his teeth, and giving himself the worst of pressure headaches. At his feet were a dozen or more crumpled up sheets of his expensive linen stationary. In three hours he had not gotten past the damned salutation. The more time he spent on over-thinking his correspondence, the less it seemed like a good idea.

With an _Evanesco_ at the doomed balls of paper Severus gave up, and went into his bedroom whereupon he fell into bed, still fully clothed, and hoped that he slept at least some of the night that was left.

_**Sept. 27, Thursday – Scowling Through Potions**_

Neville Longbottom melted a cauldron. The first since his first day in class. 25 points lost from Gryffindor.

_Her Acne Serum was perfect._

Facial contortion contest between the Boy-Who-Lived and the Slytherin Prince. 10 points lost from Gryffindor.

_Her essay was exactly one foot in length, as he assigned it._

Ronald Weasley tripped the Know-It-All (co-horts Dean and Seamus laughed) while she went to turn in her Acne Serum sample, thus causing her to fall and scrape her knees. 100 points from Gryffindor and detention for all three with Filch for a month of latrine duty. All three Gryffindors earned a zero for the class, as, unfortunately, did Hermione Granger.

After the Potions class for the first years Severus sat in his office with his head bent over his desk as he pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. He had not lit any of the torches so his office was a jumble of shadows hiding darker shadows that appeared as Boggarts skulking in the corners.

He admitted that he enjoyed teaching his NEWTs students Potions because all of them had proven that they wanted to be there to learn more. Out of all his classes the first years were the worst. It was glorified baby-sitting and his class of Gryffindor/Slytherin was the absolute worst.

Hermione Granger, his ward, The Child, was the wheat amongst the chaff. He had managed to disabuse her of her habit of raising her hand to answer every question, and yet still she was eager to learn. How novel that was to have a first year student that actually wanted to learn what he had to teach.

It appeared, though, that he was the only one to appreciate this aspect of The Child. _Hermione_, his thoughts ground out at him. He listened to the other teachers. They lauded her essays, her work in class, but she was referred to as "nosy", "bossy", and always, "she never stops asking questions". Even Minerva, The Child's Head of House, allowed her other housemates to bedevil her. He could say with certainty that such behavior did not exist in the House of Snakes. Not after all the years he had been teaching and had been the Head of the most reviled House in Hogwarts. He had made it a point, a rule even, that Slytherins always stood by their brothers and sisters. They were family, and he... well... Severus snorted as he recalled an old Muggle movie he had seen on the old black and white that Tobias used to hoard like dragon treasure when he was growing up. It seemed that Severus was 'Father Goose'!

* * *

_**Sept. 27th – early evening**_

It was the hour before dinner would be served in the Great Hall. The chill of autumn was more prevalent on the evening breezes yet it did not stop most of the students from braving that breeze to play, to walk, and for many of the older ones, to snog in private places amongst the grounds, by the Black Lake, or the many gardens that were preparing for sleep.

Hermione had found a little courtyard formed by two wings of the great castle, and an old fence festooned with years of ivy sprawling all over it. The gate was long gone leaving behind ornate yet rusted hinges. Within the hideaway it was lined by trees many of whose leaves were starting to fall and to cover the sandstone tiled courtyard floor that was the decorative tiling of the Futhark surrounding a depiction of Hogwarts itself. Between the trees were stone carved benches and it was here that Hermione sat with her bookbag. She had her wand out, and the vexsome Transfiguration textbook. It was still pins into buttons; something she still had not managed. Perhaps her intent was absent since she hardly felt like there was any use for turning pins into buttons! However, she did _intend_ to master this assignment if she had to stay up all night to do so.

Severus, still nursing a headache from classes earlier in the day, had no appetite for dinner. Turning away from the Great Hall he made his way outside for the fresh air; the chill cutting through his woolen robes and clarifying his thoughts. Normally he would walk at least once around the Black Lake but he wanted an assurance of solitude. Late afternoon couples tended to be around the lake's edge and that was the last thing he wanted to encounter.

On the north side of the castle, beneath the shadow of its walls, there was an old courtyard that had been forgotten by all. Ivy overwhelmed the fence and the gate had been the victim of one of the Potions Master's temper when he was still a student. Elm trees lined the courtyard that was populated by whimsical, carved benches of stone, and an old sandstone tile floor of the castle itself. This was his courtyard. It was one of several places in or around the castle that Severus could visit when he needed time to himself.

Stepping over the threshold into the courtyard, Severus drew in a deep breath and let it out. For a moment he walked leisurely around the courtyard murmuring the name of each rune he stepped over that surrounded the image of Hogwarts. It was an exercise of meditation and as he sounded each rune's name with an exhale of breath he left the dunderheads behind and welcomed the natural abatement of his headache. Upon his third circuit around the Futhark he glanced up and noticed that one of the stone benches was occupied. Stopping mid-step he glared at the lump of black student robes wondering, just as he had a points loss on the tip of his tongue, who could have invaded his privacy.

"Ten points fr...!" the wizard's voice faded abruptly. Upon the stone bench, curled in the folds of her robe, lay Hermione Granger. She was asleep. With her robes as a blanket and a bookbag as her pillow.

Severus' lips thinned as he looked down upon the sleeping child. Her hair was an unbraided, unruly mess; a cloud of amber, honey, and sepia. Her feet were shod in the black Mary Janes that he had ordered for her before she left the orphanage. Girls wore school regulation black Oxfords and the boys wore natty half-boots. Hermione had the high polish, delicate shoes because Severus had decided that she required something to set her apart from the other students. With white stockings of finely knit Acromantula Silk he realised that in giving The Child such distinctive gifts it might have cheered her, but it was merely another thing that set her apart from all the students, not just the first years.

An orphan. A know-it-all. Pushy. Bossy. Never-ending questions, and Muggle-born.

"You never did have a chance, Miss Granger." Severus sighed with a deep weariness that had little to do with exhaustion and more to do with the burdens he carried. Kneeling down on one knee he carefully moved aside a curl that had fallen over the bridge of her nose.

Watching the girl as she slept Severus noted the brow that was wrinkled in consternation, the lips that were pressed tightly together. Hermione was curled up on her side on the hard bench with no benefit of a Cushioning Charm. She would not learn the intricacies of such a charm until her third year. A whisper from The Child caused him to freeze. As though she were crying in her nightmare her thin lips mouthed, 'mumma'.

Feeling a brittle cracking from around his heart Severus stood rapidly. The rapidity of movement caused him a momentary dizziness. He stepped away from the girl until he was at the gap where the gate had once been in the fence. "Kierka!" he half-shouted, half-whispered.

A house elf with startling purple eyes and a ring dangling from one ear popped into existence in front of the wizard. It bowed sharply. "What can Kierka be doing for Master Potions Master, sir?"

The wizard pointed at the sleeping witch. "Do not wake her, but put her to bed. When she does awaken she is to be given dinner," he ordered the elf. Kierka bowed, smiled at the child, then snapped her fingers. Both were vanished in an instant.

_**Sept. 27th – Evening**_

As Severus sat at his desk that same evening, he stared down at a piece of linen stationary with his quill poised above it. The paper was pristine, untouched, a pleasant cream that set off the Gruen Sauvage ink he used for correspondence well.

He jerked dropping the quill to the spotless paper as the house elf popped into his sitting room. He glared at the green ink now splattered from the quill's silver tip across the page.

"What do you want, Kierka?" snapped the wizard.

The elf bowed, and then had the audacity to smirk at him. "Little Miss was sent to bed where she slept for an hour, Master Potions Master, sir. Kierka then gave her dinner and Little Miss is back to sleep."

"Ah. Go then," Severus negligently waved his hand as he vanished the mess of ink and paper from his desk. He did not watch as the elf bowed, then popped away.

Gathering a new page of stationary, the last one, he noted idly as he inked his quill anew. He began to write,

_Dear Hermione,_

_I have been your benefactor, and recipient of your letters, for two years. I have been comfortable with an unreasonable sense of anonymity until your arrival at Hogwarts. Watching you each day at the Gryffindor table, teaching you in class, I have come to realise that it is unfair to leave you alone in this dark world when I am in the position of offering you more. I wish to begin the procedure of adoption. With your acceptance, that is, if you wish to leave that terrible home of waifs, I would like to offer you a home..._

Severus paused. He knew that he would be changing everything with his next words. He could still crush the letter and send it into the flames and Albus would have his spy, and Miss Granger would continue to rely upon herself, and her friends. Never would she have what any of them, even the ruddy Boy-Who-Became-A-Redhead, would have.

He frowned tautly. The Child would have that boor, Moody. If anything, the Potions Master could not allow His Child to be raised by that patchwork quilt of a wizard!

_...as my daughter._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus T. Snape_

* * *

_**A/N: And there you have it. The letter finally written. I believe this will shake a few things up including the world of one Gryffindor. 'Father Goose' is a fantastic movie made in 1967 with Cary Grant and Leslie Caron. If you haven't seen it the premise is that Cary Grant, a confirmed bachelor, misogynist, and all-around crusty, old, bastard becomes Father to an entire brood of orphans (all girls!). It is worth watching.**_


	18. Saturday Part I

**Sept. 29th – Saturday, The Morning Mail**

"Hey, Nev," whispered Harry to the Longbottom boy. In front of him was porridge that he had inundated with raw sugar. Neville glanced at the mess and grimaced.

"What is it, Harry?" Neville, raised by his grandmother to eat a healthier breakfast, was content with fruit and toast.

"Where's Hermione?"

The girl was noticeably absent from the table of Gryffindors that were chattering and eating louder than any of the students at the other House tables.

Neville shrugged. "I don't know, Harry, but look at Seamus, Dean, and Ron."

Harry turned his head sideways. At home he and Ron got along really well. They even shared a room in the Burrow. At Hogwarts, though, they had parted. Ron did not seem to care much for learning anything. Although everyone, even Hermione, fell asleep in History of Magic, Ron was sleeping through Defence Against the Dark Arts, and any place else he could get away with it. The three, Dean, Seamus, and Ron always spent more time pranking other first years than they did opening a book. Harry had gotten one Howler from Mum Molly, but Ron already had received six.

It also bothered him that Hermione had become a recent, and favourite target, of the three boys for teasing. It was only teasing, Harry said to himself. It was not like some of the things the older girls were doing to Hermione.

Harry pushed away his porridge and nudged Neville's shoulder. "Let's go look for her."

Neville quickly snatched a bit of melon, then got up and followed Harry.

Both boys jogged up to Gryffindor tower, went through the portrait hole, and ignored the look the Fat Lady gave them, and found themselves in the empty common room. Both young wizards paused.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted. "You here?" He prepared to shout again when Neville stopped him.

"Quiet, Harry. I thought I heard something." Neville approached the arched doorway the led to staircases that went up to the boys dorms (on the right) and girls dorms (on the left). He cocked his head to the side and heard a nearly faint sniffle. He looked up the charmed stairs that did not allow boys to ascend. "Hermi... oh no!" gasped the round-faced boy as he looked up the stairs.

At the landing for the first year dorms, which were at the top of the tower, Hermione stood. She was in her uniform blouse, skirt, white socks, and Mary Janes. Twin tracks of tears streamed silently down her cheeks. Her distress was evident: her skin was a beautiful Robin's egg blue.

Harry's head appeared over Neville's shoulder. "Mione! You're blue!" he exclaimed too obviously.

Hermione made her way down the stairs and threw herself into Neville's arms where she began to sob loudly. Harry gently patted her springy, curly hair.

"What happened, Mione?" asked Harry softly.

Raising her head, she sniffled, took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. She then blew her nose. "It was a chocolate dream truffle from Honeydukes. I planned to wait until this Sunday... _sniff_... but they really looked good, so I had one..." tears dripped from her eyes to her cheeks.

Harry's brow furrowed darkly. "The twins didn't do this, did they?"

"No!" Hermione protested sharply. "You know they've never pranked me, Harry, and they've always been nice. It was Dean and Seamus and Ron. They gave me the chocolates last night."

"Ron," growled Harry. "I bet he slipped in the twins 'colour-changing chocolates' into the box!"

"They were just sooo nice," wailed Hermione, "and now I'm blue!"

"It's a pretty colour," said Neville shyly. Hermione glared at her friend and Neville's head sunk quickly into his shoulders.

"I'm not leaving the tower today," Hermione declared staunchly as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I look ridiculous!"

"Hermione, Ron's pranked me a few times with those colour changing chocolates. I've been pink twice, and yellow once. If you don't leave the tower then you're just giving my idiot brother and his friends what they want." Harry patted her shoulder.

Neville nodded. "Yeah, Harry's right. You're a Gryffindor, Hermione! Remember when Dean used the Sticking Spell to stick my essay for Potions to my back?"

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. "That was terrible, Neville! You should have told someone. Professor Snape got so mad at you!"

"He wasn't mad at me," said Neville with a firm shake of his head. "He was annoyed at the prank. He only took two points from me, but it was Dean that wound up with detention later. I still don't know how Snape figured out that it was Dean who did it because I didn't grass on him!"

"Professor Snape, Neville," Hermione corrected automatically not even aware she had done so. She drew in a deep breath. It would be so humiliating to show up before the whole school blue!

Harry giggled. "I have an idea! Hermione, go get those chocolates!"

Hermione grinned as she realised at once what Harry's plan was. "I'll be right back!" She turned and ran up the stairs.

"What's going on, Harry?" asked Neville, lost for the moment.

Harry just grinned.

* * *

The breakfast hour was nearly over and Severus had yet to see his ward appear. He had been curious when Potter and Longbottom left, and had meant to shadow them when Quirrel began stuttering in his ear about the 1832 Blight of the Hinkypunks in Cardiff. He was barely listening to the man stutter through a recitation of the final assault by Aurors on the Hinkypunks when the Great Hall faded into silence. Everyone at the staff table were frozen before being thawed by a wave of titters and giggles spreading across the students.

Hooch let out a raw bark of laughter. Dumbledore chuckled softly into his pumpkin juice, his eyes twinkling dangerously. Minerva only harrumphed and shook her head. Pomona and Filius just sighed, and continued to eat breakfast.

Severus felt his blood shoot to a rolling boil in his skull. Flanked by her two twitter-pated cohorts was his ward. Longbottom's skin was a violent, vomit inducing pink, and Potter's skin was an insulting Slytherin green that had the effrontery to match his bottle-green eyes, and Hermione... oh Merlin's shriveled bollix! His soon-to-be daughter was a most comely – _it's hideous!_ His mind shouted – flawless blue.

Affecting an aura of normalcy, the trio all seated themselves, and began to eat their breakfast. Not one of them acknowledged the fact that each of them was quite a different colour. By the time breakfast was complete, the laughter had faded, and conversation was back to its normal chaotic buzz.

The Potions Master was chomping at the bit to get to the bottom of this prank, but he had to wait. Not because he was supposed to, but the owl-mail was arriving, and he was very interested to see the reaction of his Blue_berry_ to his proposal.

* * *

Hermione had very nearly forgotten that she was blue once the titters and giggling and mutterings had faded away. She and Harry and Neville were hotly debating the uselessness of turning pins into buttons when each of them wanted to Transfigure other more interesting items.

"Bill says you can Transfigure a book into bread," posed Harry.

"You can't eat it, though, Harry," replied Neville.

"You can," insisted Harry, "but it just tastes like pages."

"Oh, Harry!" cried Hermione as she thought of the destruction of a book. "Did you really eat a book?"

Harry chuckled, "Not the whole thing, 'Mione! Like I said, it tasted funny. Still, it was interesting. Bill's really good at Transfiguration. He can do permanent stuff."

"That's impressive, Harry," agreed Neville. "My gran can't do that. It was embarrassing when she kept Transfiguring my socks into pants when I was little."

Hermione frowned trying to imagine Neville's transfigured pants returning to socks. Her eyes widened, and suddenly she laughed.

Neville frowned, "It's not funny, Hermione! It hurt!"

"Oh Neville!" she was still smiling but patted her friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but..." She let out a yelp as a scroll sealed with a heavy green wax seal and tied in green ribbon fell right onto her plate of bacon and toast, throwing the contents everywhere.

Two more letters fell one in front of Harry and one in front of Neville, and they quickly opened their correspondence from home.

Hermione picked up the scroll and removed the green ribbon. She was unaware of being watched by the dark, hawkish gaze of the Potions Master. Breaking the seal she then unrolled the scroll and read its short message.

_**TO: Miss Hermione Jean Granger**_

_**FROM: L. Candlemass, Attorney at Law**_

_Miss Granger,_

_It is with pleasant news that I greet you. Your Benefactor has chosen not only to reveal himself but to offer you a home and family. I have enclosed his letter for your perusal._

_Necessary paperwork has been sent and only awaits the proper signatures and samples._

_My kindest felicitations,_

_**Llewellyn Candlemass**_

Hermione dropped the lawyer's letter to her side as she hastily unfolded the enclosed letter. Neville had picked up the discarded letter and now he and Harry, temples pressed together, were reading it.

_Miss Granger,_

_It has been pleasant being your benefactor since the unfortunate passing of your parents. However, since coming to know you through your correspondence, in my class and the few visits we have had surrounded by your friends, I have come to the conclusion that both of us would benefit were I to offer you my home and my name. In essence, Miss Granger, in my humble self I am offering you a parent and a family. I should like to adopt you._

_If this is something you would care to accept, please give me a subtle nod of acceptance. I shall be watching for your reaction from the breakfast table. _

_If this is not something you desire, then I will remain your benefactor until your majority._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

Severus watched as his blue child let out an excited squeal that silenced all noise in the hall. She hugged her two friends, and suddenly turned her attention to him. With a rather sweet smile (no, Severus did _NOT_ just think the word _sweet_!) quickly countered by a shy, yet rather controlled expression, she settled a fallow, doe-eyed gaze upon him. He would have basked in the child's glow, but her two bodyguards, Mr. Pink and Mr. Green, had flanked her and were glaring warningly at him.

"That is hardly _subtle_," he muttered beneath his breath.

Since breakfast was finally ending, most of the student population were filing out and following plans they had made for Saturday. The older students were going to Hogsmeade and so they excitedly moved _en masse_ towards the Entrance Hall and stepped out to the waiting carriages. Severus rose from his place at the Staff Table, and swept down the dais and towards the colourful trio.

"Miss Granger," he began in a dulcet tone. She glanced up at her teacher, her benefactor? Her … she blushed with pleasure. Severus tried to ignore the obvious joy dancing like a demented pixie in the child's eyes. "You will join me for dinner in my office this evening at seven post meridian, sharp. I believe we have matters to discuss that we shall only _discuss_ then."

Hermione nodded, but when the Potions Master scowled just enough to show he disapproved of her silent agreement, she drew in a shallow breath, and blurted. "I'll be there, Professor!"

Severus started to stride out of the Great Hall, when he glanced over his shoulder. "See that the two peacocks stay at home, Miss Granger."

"Yes, Sir," Hermione bit back a giggle but it was betrayed by the smile on her blue-tinted face. "I will, Sir."

Harry glowered at the retreating back of their teacher. He sighed as he regarded terribly pink Neville and blushingly blue Hermione. "Well, at least peacocks are boy birds."

* * *

_**Saturday – early afternoon**_

Severus sat as content as any canary that had escaped the cat as he watched Albus Dumbledore pace in agitation in front of him.

"How can you do this to me, Severus?" asked Albus shaking the official forms in front of the younger man's face.

"How can I do this to _you_?" asked Severus. Incredulity burned in his breast, but he did not show it. "It was _you_ that wanted me to take her in the first place, Albus! How many times have I listened to you bemoaning how awful that orphanage is, and how _kind_ Moody is for paying attention to her when I would not even answer her letters? What am I to think but that this is what you wanted all along!"

"You have put her in danger, my boy," scolded Albus.

Severus bristled. He was a grown wizard and he refused to be talked down to as if he were a student, or an idiot. "She is in no more danger than is any other child in this school! She is in danger simply for being a friend to Potter!" The younger wizard stood and snatched the parchment that would soon be Hermione Granger's official adoption papers from the older man's hand. "I will be in a better position to protect her if she is mine, Albus. Surely you see this?"

The Headmaster twirled the end of his beard around one hand and with the other he tapped his lower lip with his forefinger. "Do not forget, I am meeting with Lucius Malfoy today, Severus. I think he will not be pleased with you for adopting a Muggle-born witch."

His features darkened. "Lucius is afraid for his family, Albus. He is not going to give a damn for what I do as long as I am still of use to him."

"And are you?" Albus retorted. "Your trial was public record, Severus. Everyone knows that you turned on your own and were the voice of accusal behind many of the Death Eaters that were jailed. Will Lucius still trust you when you adopt this child?"

"What do you want of me, old man?" shouted Severus, his composure fracturing as his anger and frustration burst forth. "She is breaking, Albus! Look at her grades, her performance in her classes..."

"Miss Granger is showing some trouble in Transfiguration, Severus. I see nothing that points to a _problem_," Albus replied with some asperity. "She is rather liked by all of her teachers..."

"Nosy! Bossy! Annoying swot! Does that sound like _affection_, Albus?" sneered the Potions Master. "Adrasta Vector came to me for a migraine potion after dealing with the girl's incessant questions! Filius Flitwick, born with the patience of a saint, has become annoyed with her simply because she is not in his House! Quirinus Quirrel gets so bollixed up when he mentions her that his stutter becomes unbearable to all of us!" He then shook his head in annoyance. "She is being bullied by students from ALL the Houses, including from her own, Albus," the younger wizard took a pause to pinch the bridge of his nose so he could the volume of his face. "She needs someone to speak for her, to be there for her. You _cannot_ leave her alone and expect her to be of any use in the future to Potter if she breaks."

He watched as the Headmaster paced for a moment, his hand twisting the end of his beard again. The younger wizard continued, "As to any trust Lucius might lose in me? He knew what I was because he was at my trial. He knew that I turned on my Death Eater brothers. He came to me when he was summoned by whatever thing the Dark Lord has become. He is coming to meet with you today at my suggestion. I rather think that my adopting a Muggle-born is hardly going to bother him."

Dumbledore sat wearily at his desk. "I'll not stand in your way, Severus. I do admit that Miss Granger needs someone, but I had hoped that your influence would be something outside of... _adoption_."

Severus did not argue that he had not come for permission from the older wizard. His mind had been made up the moment he decided to take the child as his daughter. He turned to leave, allowing the hem of his teaching robes to swirl and billow behind him.

"Severus," Albus voice halted him at the door to the office. "Remain at the castle if you would. My meeting with Lucius may require your presence."

The Potions Master nodded sharply, unseen by the Headmaster who had bent his head back to his desk. Severus did not care as he left and made his way from the tower and down to the dungeons. He had his own evening to prepare for.

He would be meeting his soon-to-be daughter that evening.

* * *

The Potions Master listened, his back teeth grinding slowly, as he sat in the teacher's lounge after lunch and listened to the teachers, that had not gone into Hogsmeade with the older students, complain about _his child_.

"Blue, and pink, and green," huffed Filius. "Have they nothing better to do on a weekend?"

"Mr. Potter bleated about some sort of prank, but I was not about to put up with foolishness such as that in my House," sniffed Minerva. "They will serve detention this Sunday with Hagrid."

The young wizard could not keep silent and snapped, "You gave the victims of a prank detention, Minerva?"

"First of all, Severus, I could not prove that it was a prank and not a backfired jape." She glared at him over the tops of her spectacles. "Unlike you I do not have the... skill... to tell what, precisely, the children are up to." She then shrugged. "Besides, this will be a good for their character."

"Quite so, Minerva," agreed Adrasta Vector.

Severus snarled, "I ought not to be surprised that you would approve, Adrasta. Your dislike of the girl is as clear as your unsuccessful bid for the return of corporal punishment."

Adrasta's lavender eyes blazed. "There is nothing wrong with corporal punishment, Severus Snape! Children require a firm hand and consistency."

"Ah. So it is good to apply pain and bruising to a backside to elicit acceptable behaviour," Severus countered sarcastically.

Minerva stood up for the Arithmancy professor, "A spanking judiciously and properly applied never hurt any child."

Adrasta interjected, "Your attitude might have been more pleasant if your parents had taken you in hand when you were a child, Severus." The witch started to titter, as did Quirinus Quirrel over by the fireplace when she choked to a stop at the appearance of the irate wizard's wand to her throat.

"Allow me to enlighten you, you ignorant witch," Severus growled dangerously. His face was very close to hers. "My father _spanked_ me with a belt against my back, and my mother believed in the Pureblood tradition of discipline; she hexed me. That did not stop when I came to Hogwarts where I was _'harmlessly pranked'_ by Gryffindors," he slipped his wand away and glared at Minerva, then to the Charms professor, "who were often abetted by Ravenclaws."

Filius stiffened. "Oh! Now, Severus, that is unfair! I have apologised for my gullibility back then and I have always spoken with you in regards to unfair punishments."

"True. My apologies, Filius, for that, but I must object to your continued prejudice towards Miss Granger simply because her intellect is not in your House." Content that the small Charms professor blushed in shame he then turned to Pomona Sprout who had been quiet all this time. "As for..."

"Don't Severus," she warned. "I've been in your court a time or two and I have admitted more than once that my 'Puffs are not perfect and you _know_ I have opposed Adrasta's requests for a return to spanking students."

"You threatened me!" screeched the witch, Adrasta as she protectively held her throat.

Pomona scowled at the younger witch. She rose from her chair and spoke swiftly before Severus could reply, "If you wouldn't speak out of stupidity, Adrasta, people wouldn't be so quick to threaten you."

She then glared at Minerva, "And you, Minerva. Giving out detention to children who were only trying to make the best of a situation? Good for their character? Why don't you just add insult to humiliation and make them wear that Dunce cap you have?"

"Because Albus confiscated it!" retorted Minerva.

To Severus' surprise the Herbology professor slipped her arm around his and tugged him out of the teacher's lounge. When the door shut behind them she pulled him close as she walked beside him down the corridor.

"Adrasta may have smarts when it comes to numbers and formulae, Severus, but she is a cow of an idiot and just not worth your anger." The older witch clucked her tongue and shook her head of iron grey curls. "As for Minerva, well, she's old school, I suppose. I know that doesn't excuse her and I _will_ say something to Albus. Honestly, why she keeps sending students to Hagrid for detention is beyond me. Not with what's happening out in the Forbidden Forest now."

Severus stopped their movement. "What has been happening in the forest, Pomona?" he asked in veiled concern.

"Hagrid has found three dead unicorns." Pomona shook her head sadly. "They were brutally slaughtered, Severus. I've told Albus that the children shouldn't be near the forest at all but he seemed to think he had it under control."

"And you're afraid Hagrid would take the students into the forest for detention." Severus' lips thinned. "The Centaurs will blame us for the unicorns deaths even if we didn't cause them."

Pomona crooked a worn finger at the Potions Master and then practically dragged him out of the castle and towards her greenhouses. Finally she hissed, "It's that bloody Stone, Severus. It shouldn't be here!"

Severus nodded, "I have had my doubts, too, but Albus assured all of us that what we created were simply traps and that the Stone itself is completely safe."

"Pffffft!" Pomona snorted.

Severus smirked. Pomona Sprout was more than a simple Hufflepuff. She was a witch of the earth, uncommon, and had been taught the 'Old Ways' by a very old witch who had been one of the last Elemental Witches known – Hepzibah Grymwald. Pomona's speech was plain, often rough if she were not watching herself, and honest to the point of the truth becoming a wicked dagger from her lips. Because she was not pretty in a conventional sense nearly everyone overlooked the formidable powers of this plain witch.

Only Albus and Severus appeared to know that Pomona was rightfully the equivalent of a Potions Master, she was a Gaean. She knew not only magical flora but Muggle flora as well. She was versed in everything from poisonous plants to healing herbs and had taught Severus some of the secrets that had been taught to her by Hepzibah.

It had been Pomona who had found him at one of the lowest points of his young life, when his friendship with Lily Evans had ended. He had been so upset and so angry with himself he had found himself in greenhouse three and had been tearing it apart with some vicious hexes. Pomona had not been angry with the young Severus, but nor had she coddled him with hugs and hot chocolate. She had talked to him well into the night while both of them set greenhouse three to rights and then she had him re-plant every plant he had destroyed.

Severus had gained a certain respect for his teacher that he seldom gave to anyone. He came to love her as he would a true mother the night he had come to Hogwarts upon Lily's death. That night he had pledged his soul to Albus and had pledged to keep Harry Potter safe for his destiny.

Seventy-two hours and then some had seen him without a meal, without any normal sleep, and grieving the death of his friend of his youth, a woman he thought he loved, and mourning his own mistakes.

He had sought out Pomona in one of her greenhouses in the dead of night and it was in her arms that he wept without shame. He was given the hot chocolate he did not expect and then Pomona put him to work harvesting flower petals at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She taught him, more out of comfort, a poem that had become his mantra as he grew older:

_I was born from the loins of Hephaestus_

_My soul called forth from Nut_

_My body created from_

_the blessings of Okeanos_

_and formed by the hand of Gaea _

_-flame will guide me_

_-wind shall carry me_

_-water will nourish me_

_-the earth shall be my home._

Pomona patted his hand, then wagged a stubby finger at him. "Mark my words, child, that bloody Stone is nothing but trouble and if Albus thinks he can control it then he is no better than 'Mouldy Pants'!"

"Mouldy Pants?" Severus chuckled lightly. "That is one I have not heard before."

Pomona, who refused to say "You-Know-Who" had once called the Dark Lord by name. Out of deference to her friend and colleague, who explained the pain that was felt through his Dark Mark at the evil one's name, had begun to use descriptive euphemisms that were generally creative and sometimes entirely insulting! To Voldemort, that is.

The Herbology mistress and Head of Hufflepuff let out a laugh that was mostly of pent up frustration over things in general. She preferred her greenhouses and teaching over the politics of war which was why she was the only witch who had been offered a place in the Order of the Phoenix and had turned it down. Severus believed that the more likely reason for not having joined the Order was because Albus Dumbledore headed it. Pomona did not mind deferring to the Headmaster if it regarded her job as a teacher, but she had had many arguments in the past over his involvement with the war while keeping a post where he was also guardian to the children of wizard-kind. Too many times she had felt that the students of Hogwarts had been put in danger merely for the _'greater good'_.

"As for Hermione Granger," began Pomona. Severus stiffened as he expected more biting criticism such as what he had heard in the teacher's lounge. The witch saw this and smirked. "Oh Severus, don't get your hackles up. I'm not about to insult your favourite swot." She watched with amusement as agreement warred with indignation across his usual erudite features. When exasperation had won out she continued, "The child IS a little swot, and you know it. But, she IS a child. She is graceless, socially inept, and is doing her best to find her place in our world. Miss Granger is also a lonely and frightened little girl who has no parent to stand for her at a time when she so desperately needs one."

Severus shrugged but then his eyes narrowed shrewdly as he caught a tell-tale twinkle in the older woman's eyes. "What do you know, Pomona?" he asked with soft accusal.

"You care about the girl, Severus." His lips thinned and she laughed. "Oh stop that! You forget that I am an excellent student of observation, child. You are the only one who never chimes in on the cat fests about her in the teacher's lounge. Not to mention that you took Minerva to task on her and her friend's behalf's today. Several times I have seen you smile at the girl – not with your mouth but those depthless eyes of yours. I also saw you waiting for her in the Entrance Hall when she came back from her grandmother's funeral." Her eyes twinkled nearly as madly as the Headmaster's and Severus found her perceptiveness disconcerting. "I also sense you have a secret about her... and like any boy who wants to share his secret with someone who understands it, you're bursting at the seams."

Severus' eyebrows crawled rapidly up his forehead as he snapped, "I am not bursting!"

Pomona laughed and slipped her arm through his again as they resumed walking towards her greenhouses. "Now my fine Slytherin that outburst only told me I am right. You're up to something, so give. What's brewing in that devious mind of yours?"

"I have been her benefactor since her parents deaths, but now I... wish to adopt the girl," he spat the last three words. "And this seems to disappoint the Headmaster which is annoying as hell because he is the one who set me up as her anonymous benefactor in the first place!"

"Hmph," she grumped. They had reached one of the greenhouses. Pomona touched the door, her fingers dancing methodically over it as she chanted an odd sounding spell in the oldest of Latin dialects. The door popped open. "That old lemon-brained wizard has his nose bent only because your actions superseded some plan he had for you that he never mentioned to you," she scoffed.

"I am certain he wanted me to spy for him again," sighed Severus as he followed Pomona into the greenhouse. He was pleasantly assaulted by the moist heat of the greenhouse and the pungent odours of hundreds of herbs. The touch worked much as walking into his private potions lab did; it calmed his nervous heart. He stopped to run his fingers through the rich, dark, and aromatic mulch that Pomona blended herself. "As I recall, upon adopting Potter, Molly Weasley gave Albus such an earful that both his ears were red for a week." He smirked, picked up a trowel, and automatically began to plant seedlings.

"I remember that!" crowed Pomona. "Molly's very protective of her brood and she was upset to learn of Mr. Potter's circumstances at his aunt's house until she had Albus remove the boy from that situation."

Severus glanced up in surprise. "That was at Molly's request? So I was not the only one with a concern about his erstwhile family. How did she even know?"

Pomona's gaze twinkled at him and her smile, as pleasant as it was, made Severus want to shiver even in the heat of the greenhouse. "Albus thinks he knows everything? An inquisitive mother with the heart of a Prewitt is no match for that old wizard. Albus put Mr. Potter in the hands of instability in that Muggle house, and never you mind, mister," she admonished, shaking a small hand rake at the wizard, "as to how _I know_ about where the son of Lily and James had been hidden. If I knew, you can bet all your galleons that Molly knew and chances are, agents of Mouldy Pants probably knew, too."

Severus nodded. He had learned from Lucius that nearly every Death Eater that had avoided Azkaban knew where Potter was, who Petunia Dursley was, and where the boy and his family lived in Little Whinging. Severus became aware, then, that a Muggle financial agent of Lucius Malfoy's had purchased the factory where the boy's uncle, Vernon Dursley, had worked. What his plans had been, the younger wizard did not know,

"Moody was the one that alerted the Order to a problem at the Dursleys. Potter had been injured when his family left him alone," mused Severus turning over those events in his mind.

"The key there is that Alastor _alerted the Order_, not Albus. Albus put his twist on things and made it look like he had come up with the idea of Harry staying with the Weasleys but Molly had him right bollixed up when, instead of her and Arthur acting as _in situ_ guardians, she adopted him!" Pomona's witchly cackle was swallowed up by the close atmosphere of the greenhouse.

After several minutes of comfortable silence as they both worked at planting seedlings Pomona spoke up, "Never you mind the Headmaster, Severus. Your days of spying are over and its time you protect these children. If we're not here for them a storm beyond magnitude is going to come here, to Hogwarts, swallow the defenceless, and leave us in tatters. Albus may be confidant in his "Golden Child Harry Potter" but if he gets his way our losses will be triple what they were at Mouldy Moat's first fall."

The younger wizard dropped his trowel and clutched at his left forearm as he felt an ominous pulse of dark pain from the Dark Mark that was there. "The Headmaster believes that Hermione will have some value to Potter..." his voice trailed off worriedly.

"Probably as a decoy, a bloody Muggle-born sacrifice!" the witch dug so viciously into the pot and seedling she was working on that her trowel killed the innocent seedling. Seeing what she had done her face fell into one of contrite sadness as she lifted the mutilated seedling. "That girl needs you, Severus," Pomona spoke with uncharacteristic steel in her voice. Maybe your first act as her father would be to escort Hagrid and his charges on their detention Saturday night since you can't change Minerva's assigned detention."

Severus' spine straightened and he nodded firmly. "I believe I shall, Pomona."

Pomona added the dead seedling to a new mound of mulch she was preparing in a corner of the greenhouse, and smiled to herself in satisfaction. Severus was going to be a good father.

* * *

_**A/N: Dear readers, I am terribly sorry about how long this update took. Real life and health circumstances have taken their toll. I will not abandon this story but updates will come slowly. Tea between Lucius and the Headmaster are up next as is dinner between prospective father and daughter.**_

_**~etherian**_


	19. Chapter 19

My apologies for this not being a real chapter. Family life and complications with my own health have made writing next to impossible. Neither Master Snape's Journal nor Daddy Long Legs will be abandoned. Family comes first and myself and my co-writer on Master Snape's Journal need to deal with these issues.

etherian and Master Severus Snape


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